


Queen under the mountain

by starwalker



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: All-Knowing Balin, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Erebor Reclaimed, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Declarations Of Love, Erebor, F/M, Falling In Love, Getting to Know Each Other, King Under the Mountain, Kíli/Tauriel Fluff, Love/Hate, elven princess Tauriel, unlikely love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-04-25 10:39:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4957126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwalker/pseuds/starwalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kili is King under the mountain after Thorin’s death. Tauriel is Thranduil’s only daughter. When an unlikely alliance through marriage is proposed, everyone involved is bound on doing their duty. It was never about feelings. Or so they thought.<br/>AU where Kili and Tauriel have never met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kin and duty

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has just been bugging me to no end, so I finally gave up and seized the plot bunny by the ears. It is supposed to be not more than 3 chapters long, painted in bold strokes slash individual situations building up the whole.  
> I am curious as to whether such an idea would take off, since we're all so in love with Kiliel and all the drama and the death and the missing completion plot. What if we stripped the drama and left them slightly hating each other for nonsense reasons, in a world where everybody is whole and at least in theory happy and it's all about politics, and start from there? Here's what...

It was what she had been trained for, her entire life.

Do her duty. Honor her father.

And she fully intended to live up to the expectations.

Tauriel sat with her back straight and her chin raised, her features carefully arranged into an expression of benevolence and pride, with some casting down of her eyes when necessary. Her fiery hair was adorned in white pearls and diamonds, set in the most intricate hair ornament of dwarivsh made, one that had been passed down for generations in the line of Durin.

One fit for a queen.

It was her own wedding feast, and next to her on the dais sat her lord and husband, Kili, son of Dis, King under the mountain, his booming merry voice drowning all others. Her father, king Thranduil, was seated on the place of honor on the king’s immediate right, wearing an expression of smugness on his face.

Finally, after hundreds of years of bitter quarrels, their two races were united again, and through a bond that knew no breaking or going back on, no less – royal marriage.

 

* * *

“Over my dead body!”

The voice boomed in the hall of audience, drowning any other noise near and wide, as Kili threw the letter sealed with golden wax, bearing king Thranduil’s personal crest. The long scroll scattered and twisted upon the marble floor like an injured snake as courtiers leaped this way and that to avoid stepping on the royal message.

With a quick wave of the hand, Balin, the king’s first advisor, sent everybody out of the hall. He then slowly approached the king seated on his throne, and inclined his head.

“Sire…”

“Oh come now, Balin! Do not “sire” me, not unless the occasion demands it!”

Balin inclined his head, still serious. “Kili. Do rule in your kin’s infamous temper before it ruins one of the wisest propositions you have received since you became King under the mountain.”

Kili seemed to strip himself of his royal dignity as Balin stopped addressing him as such. His face assumed an incredulous look, and then he promptly burst out laughing.

“Balin! You woe me. For a moment I almost thought you meant that! Me, to marry Thranduil’s daughter! Me, to bring shame upon my house by marrying an elf, no less!”

“Kili. Stop this childish behavior at once, and listen to me. One of the most important tasks of a king is to protect his borders, and what better way to do this than by assuring the loyalty of your neighbors and maintaining peace?”

Kili’s usually merry eyes shone dark and menacing. “Do not talk to me of loyalty. It was Thranduil who refused to help my forbearers, when the dragon came. It was he who turned his back on our struggles. What do I owe him?”

“You owe him nothing, but you owe your people not to let history repeat itself!” Balin’s voice rose an octave. “Swallow your pride and do what is best for the realm, as a wise ruler should! What better way is there to ensure your borders than to befriend your neighbors? What better way to ensure lasting alliance than by marriage? Open your eyes, Kili, and do not tell me all these years of me teaching you diplomacy have gone to the wind!”

Kili opened his mouth in angry retort, and closed it. Then opened it again, and closed it once more. Balin waited patiently while his king processed the information, fought his demons and his pride and answered…

“But I cannot be married to an elf!”

Balin sighed. This was going to be just as difficult as he had imagined.

“And why in Mahal’s name not?”

Kili sputtered indignantly. “It’s…. she’s… an _elf_ , Balin, dwarves do not marry elves!”

“And just because they do not have a habit to do so means it cannot happen? Kili, we are talking political marriage here. Political union, if you’d prefer. It’s not about you, personally, it’s about your people and her people and you will both do your duty. Once you are married and the contract is done, you might as well never see her, for all anybody cares.”

Kili cupped his chin in his hand. “Your words ring true, Balin… I may never even need to speak to her, as long as we are seen side by side on formal events. She could be an asset to me in negotiating with other elven lords, too…”

“Now this is spoken like a true king.” Balin said approvingly.

With a sigh, the King under the mountain stood up from his throne, and retrieved the scroll from where it lay twisted and scattered on the marble floor. Then he handed it to Balin.

“Do what needs to be done.”

* * *

She remembered very well the day she was summoned to her father’s private chambers. She had been out in the gardens, relishing the morning sun amongst the trees, a rare spring day as it was too early still for spring to grace these northern lands. She had some early flowers in her hands, and sat on an intricately carved bench, examining the delicate flowers in her hands, hands befitting more a warrior from her father’s guard than to those of an elven princess. They were callused and worn from her practice with bow and blade, her face that of a determined warrior, with none of the softness that was so valued in eleven maidens. Her friends had oft remarked as much, and she had always laughed them off. She intended to spend her days hunting, both game and orcs, running the forests to her heart’s desire.

She should have known better.

She should have known that the fate of a royal princess rarely held what she desired. Instead, it was laid out for her.

When she received her father’s summons, she rose and went forth, with no foreboding of what was to come. The small flowers were in her hands still.

As the guards at the door parted to let her pass, bowing to her, she rolled her eyes and greeted them by name. “Alitiel. Haled.” They each nodded in turn, their eyes twinkling in merriment, but their manner courteous. She so hated it when they took on airs when on duty, her own childhood friends and partners in many a mischief from days past.

She stepped through the doors and heard them softly close behind her. She looked around the ornately decorated chambers, to find her father standing up, looking through the tall window that stretched from floor to ceiling, framed by weaving vines of carved wood.

“My lord and father. You have summoned me.”

She bowed her head and then stood expectant before him. Her father had always maintained a rather formal relationship with his daughter, ever since her mother passed away. She had vague memories of laughter and play in the back of her mind, she could almost reach them if she tried hard enough, but then one look at her father’s stern, inscrutable face would have her doubt they had ever happened for true.

“Tauriel. Come. Sit. There is something I must inform you of.”

Her father’s face was wiped clean of all emotion, as usual. She sat on a chair nearby, and for some reason she could not quite fathom felt a chill go through her, as her father turned to face her and regarded her with cool pale eyes.

She looked exactly like her late mother, auburn red hair, green fiery eyes. Nothing of her father’s cool frosted complexion of pale blue eyes and light silver-blond hair. Nothing of his calm and composed demeanor, either. The greatest discord between father and daughter had always been Tauriel’s fiery temper, and her inability to suppress and control it as befits an elven princess.

Thranduil picked up a scroll off the nearby table and offered it to her. She picked it up and examined it, startled to see the crest of the dwarven King under the mountain occupying a significant part of its surface. A feeling of unknown dread, to match the chill that she felt earlier, landed into her stomach and refused to let go as she unfolded the scroll and read.

 

_“To his majesty king Thranduil,_

_son of Oropher, ruler of the Woodland realm, our respectful greetings._

_We would thus like to convey our answer to Your proposal that does us great honor: the hand of your fair daughter Tauriel in marriage, who has no equal amongst the jewels of the earth and the light of the clearest gem. It is our will that our two great kingdoms unite in an alliance that would last from this day on until the Last days._

_We therefore accept your proposal. Ambassadors will be sent forth as requested in order to make all the necessary arrangements and proceed with the nuptials on Durin’s day as is our custom._

_May your rule be long and your house ever prosper._

_Signed: Kili, son of Dis, King under the mountain, ruler of Erebor, may his line remain forever.”_

 

The scroll slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor, as did the small spring flowers still in her trembling hands, unseen.

She raised wide eyes at her father who was regarding her in cold silence.

“You are giving me away.” It was not a question, but a blank statement, her incredulity showing in her quiet voice. “You are treating me away like some trading good to be sold when the price is right.”

“Tauriel. Look into your heart and tell me: have you not always known that a day such as this will come? You are my daughter and a royal princess. You have been trained for this, your entire life. Now, you will be a queen.”

Tauriel was looking at her father as if she was seeing him for the first time. And deep inside her, she knew at once that nothing she said would change his mind; the dread she had felt earlier clawed at her throat, threatening to make her cry right then and there. There will be time to cry. Now she had to do everything in her power to keep her composure. As an elven princess should. As a future _queen_ should.

The thought made her sick. Her temper once more got the better of her, and she whirled at her father – the king – with wild eyes, like a wild cat about to pounce.

“You mean to sell me like cattle! And to a _dwarf_ , no less!” she spat the word as if it was the lowliest of insults. “To lock me up under that mountain where I shall never see the sun again or walk under the stars, to live amongst that desolate place where nothing ever grows! And among dwarves and their mines, their gold and gems, and their dark caverns! I will fade there, father, I will die…”

And in spite of her resolution, her voice broke down in sobs that shook her shoulders as she clamped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying.

Thranduil wore a mildly disgusted look on his face.

“I feared that such might be your reaction, and I am most displeased to see that all my work and the work of your tutors has been in vain. You disappoint me, Tauriel. Upon you is a great honor, and this union will bring peace and prosperity to our kingdom and our people for generations to come. You shall do your duty. Such is your king’s command. You may take your leave."


	2. Should I then presume?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I must say I never expected such a great reaction to this story! Thank you so much, fellow Kiliel addicts, for giving a chance to this very different setting, and even loving it along the way!  
> This chapter practically wrote itself, as your author was flying on the wings of fandom approval. We still have some way to go before our two lovebirds begin to even remotely like each other, but I promise we'll get there. Meanwhile, in a dwarvish mountain far, far away...

**Chapter 2: Should I then presume?**

 

There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

There will be time to murder and create,

And time for all the works and days of hands

That lift and drop a question on your plate;

Time for you and time for me

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,  

And for a hundred visions and revisions,

Before the taking of a toast and tea.

 

The days following her father’s announcement dragged slowly, turning into weeks and then to months. Tauriel rarely ever left her chambers. For all her love of nature, plants and trees and especially the night stars, she kept her self-imposed isolation, all the more because it felt just like delaying the inevitable: she would be buried underground, and every time she looked up and saw the sun or the stars, she was reminded оf it.

It seemed odd how her most beloved things were already tainted by this impending doom hanging upon her head.

In those early days, she would pace her chamber for days on end, throwing things around and even kicking her furniture in impotent fury. She refused to see her friends, for all of a sudden everything had changed. It seemed the news had travelled the Woodland realm overnight, and everybody who had been her friend and known her as the merry huntress Tauriel, quick to anger and easy to laugh, seemed to bow their heads in her presence and call her “my lady”. It had dawned on her when Alitiel, her father’s guard and her childhood friend, inclined his head upon her leaving her father’s chambers in blind rage and muttered, “May I offer my humble congratulations to my lady and future queen?”

This had stopped her dead in her tracks. She had looked at him for a long moment in quiet astonishment and impotent fury, and then a loud slap had echoed across the empty hallway, a slap that had made the other guard wince in sympathy, and she stalked back to her rooms and refused to see anyone from that day on.

It was harder to send away the ambassadors, though. They arrived a few weeks after the scene with her father had occurred, and most of Mirkwood gathered to greet them and admire the fine picture they made. It was a great procession, numbering more than a hundred dwarves, all dressed in finery as was customary for their kin, wearing jewels kneaded in their hair and beards adorned by intricate braids. They bore gifts for Thranduil and for Tauriel, and she was supposed to greet them properly and receive them and attend feasts in their honor.

She refused outright to have anything to do with this. After much pleading from her maids, a furious Thranduil entered her chambers with a blast to the door and his voice rose high as he accused her of having no regard for her father or her kin and if she ever hoped to redeem herself she must do her duty and be grateful for what was offered to her undeserving self.

That very night, she sat on the banquet table, dressed as befit an elven princess, her auburn hair braided with some of the jewels the ambassadors had brought. She was seated next to an elderly dwarf with a long, white beard and smiling eyes, and as much as she tried to keep her gaze fixed up front, she could feel his eyes on her.

“The rumors do you wrong, my lady.” The elderly dwarf remarked at length, with a smile and a little bow of his head.

“How so?” She managed to mutter in retort.

“It was said you were as fair as starlight, and your hair the color of liquid gold. Now I see that to say this is to compare the light of the stars to that of the sun. In a word, incomparable.”

“But it is the light of the stars that my people cherish the most,” she said without thinking, somehow eager to interpose her people’s delicate comparisons of light and stars to dwarven love of material riches.

“And my people have long since learned to capture their light in the most precious jewels, which in turn can be worn in the hair of one who broods the halls. That way she always carries them with her.” He made a soft gesture towards the jewels adorning her hair.

Tauriel turned to look at the dwarf for the first time. The honest, wrinkled face had a soft look about it, as if he could read in her heart without even making an effort. His elderly eyes twinkled with the easy merriment of great wisdom, and Tauriel realized that she would be a fool if she did not try to make a friend of him.

“Thank you for your kindness. Riches such as these are indeed too precious to be worn lightly.”

“Nothing is too precious for the future Queen under the mountain.” The elderly dwarf replied courteously. “It is the king’s desire that you wear them.”

Tauriel cast her eyes down at the mention of the King. Something akin to curiosity was gnawing at her. This dwarf was to be her future lord and husband. She had never even laid eyes upon his face.

* * *

 

She departed her father’s borders a week before Durin’s day, accompanied by a retinue of elves along with her father, who was coming to give her away and attend the nuptials. Tauriel was dressed in a green floating dress as the warm wind blew her train in her wake and her hair around her face, riding a tall, dark red horse. Everybody still lowered their voices and talked to her through bowed heads and polite titles, so much so that she almost could not wait to take her leave of them. There was nothing of her old life left in Mirkwood. Stealthily, a vague, uncertain hope was forming inside her – that maybe her new life in Erebor, while not exactly fulfilling, might be at least a welcome distraction.

She could not put a finger on when the change had occurred. She had begun to feel more and more alien in her own home. She felt like a prisoner doomed to die, whom nobody really saw or spoke to, because they would be dead and gone soon.

She had received a small miniature of the King of Erebor, courtesy of the elderly dwarf she had talked to at the welcome feast and whose name she had learned to be Balin. She had spent a significant amount of time talking to him and had found, much to her amazement, that she rather enjoyed his company more than she nowadays enjoyed that of any of her folk. The old dwarf was kind and patient and always treated her with respect, but also challenged her more than once and gave her much food for thought. It was him who had enlightened her of some dwarvish customs, such as the wedding ceremony, which was performed by the eldest dwarf present and amongst males exclusively (Tauriel had pursed her lips distastefully at this) where the contract was signed and the terms agreed on. It sounded more like purchase to her than anything else, and she had said as much. Balin had sighed.

“My lady, old customs are hard to die and even harder to change. My kind is prone to riches and the dealings with them, and I am afraid this attitude sometimes spreads over to encompass such supposedly delicate matters as marriage. Bear with us about this and you will find that we more than know how to treat a lady.”

Now, remembering this conversation, she took out the miniature with the king’s face and examined it once more. The face on it was strangely handsome and delicate for a dwarf, something that had very much taken her aback the first time she set eyes on it. Unruly black hair framed his pale skin, pulled back in an attempt to tame it, which seemed to have failed. There was a mirthful look in his eyes, but they also shone with determination that was reflected in the lines around his mouth. He had an intense look about him, and something in him unsettled her, though she could not fathom why.

* * *

 

“I, Kili, son of Dis, King under the mountain and ruler of Erebor, take you, Tauriel, daughter of Thranduil, son of Oropher, to rule by my side, to share in my glory and to partake in the riches of my land. So may it be from this day until as long as we both shall live.”

His hands were sure as he set a delicate golden crown adorned with white gems upon the auburn head bowed before him. As she raised her head, he offered her his hand to help her stand on her feet, as they both turned to face the cheering crowd. Flowers landed at their feet and cries of “Long live the king! Long live the queen!” filled the air. 

* * *

 

Kili walked as if in a dream. All the events of the day were a blur to him, something surreal that had happened to someone else, in another life, a thousand miles away from here and a world apart.

He had greeted his bride-to-be – he still could not quite call her that in his head – at the enormous gilded gates of Erebor, together with his court. He had wondered what she would be like, even a time or two he had let his mind wonder as to whether he would find her attractive – but what he had seen had left him unsure. She had been polite but distant, her greeting stiff, her manner courtly but devoid of real warmth. She had bowed her head at him at all the right places, and called him “My lord” as fluently as one who had the training of a lifetime. She was indeed beautiful, almost painfully so, but coldness radiated from her and her eyes were distant. In turn, Kili had been grand and condescending, which surprised him because it was hardly in his nature, and in retrospect he was sure he had come across as stern and haughty. They have had little to say to each other, apart from all the carefully phrased formalities.

He shook his head. Not that any of this even mattered. They had both knowingly and of their own free will entered into a contract for the good of their people. They both came from long lines of royalty, had both been taught that their duty came always first and foremost. The rest was unimportant.

What was paramount was to maintain appearances and stick to the form at all times.

Which was a bit useless given that he was on his way to their marital chambers.

His mind carefully wiped clean, he walked past bowing servants and guards as he entered the chambers that had been chosen and adorned accordingly for their wedding night. He felt like kicking himself for not daring to ask Balin whether this was strictly necessary, partly because he thought he knew the answer, and partly because he did not want to suffer another one of Balin’s lectures on propriety and the upholding of ancient customs.

As he entered the main chamber and felt the door softly click shut behind him, he had already made his decision.

Apparently he would have to communicate it to his bride, who stiffly stood up from where she had been sitting a moment ago upon his entrance and stood facing him, head bowed, her posture submissive.

His impulsive nature got the better of him as he stepped into the room and started speaking before he had even had the chance to appraise the situation properly.

“My lady. I cannot bear the thought that you have come here tonight, resigned to a fate that you thought was inevitable, that it was what is expected of you. I promise you here and now that I shall not lay a hand on you, not for the sake of tradition, anyway.”

He stumbled at his own words and abruptly paused, and felt heat rising to his face. Her gaze remained inscrutable; she was regarding him with green eyes calm as the treetops when no wind had stirred them. And for the first time, Kili felt clumsy and inadequate in her presence, and opened his mouth to crush with kingly grandeur the insecurity that was threatening to swallow him whole.

That was when she smiled, and he was left gaping at her, his mouth slightly open.

He had spent the day in her presence, but the feeling that a ghost was occupying an empty shell made up of propriety and duty had never left him. As he witnessed her smile, he felt as if her own self was pouring into her, filling her to the brim with light and happiness and a sense of being alive, and for a second the thought flashed through Kili’s mind that they might not be so different after all, if stripped of all their respective constrictions.

And then she seemed to remember herself, half choking on words yet unspoken, as she softly shook her head as if she tried to remember something.

“My lord, I thank you for your kindness. I admit I was nervous, but of course I would have done my duty as is expected of me…”

Kili felt sick at her words. All the warmth that had filled him a second ago disappeared, leaving him hollow and empty inside. He shook his head and turned away from her.

“I would be grateful if you would not conceive of me as some monster with no feelings. A king I may be, and the ruler of a great and ancient kingdom. But has it even occurred to you that maybe I am not all that eager to share my bed with a stranger either, no matter how beautiful she is?” 

* * *

 

Tauriel’s mind was spinning. She had come here, her mind carefully made up, her screaming demons pushed in the back of her mind so that she might bear what was to come – her union with a dwarf she did not know, did not want, did not love.

The realisation that he might be feeling the same way crushed through her like a mighty wave that went through her body and left her feeling exhausted, as defenses she had so carefully put into place and reinforced the past few months crumbled and threatened to fall. In truth, she had thought dwarves to be primal creatures, concerned mostly with riches and lust for gold. She had imagined that her lord and husband would not hesitate to take what was his by right of marriage, regardless of what she thought of it. Now she wondered why she had ever thought that. Why she had painted in darkest strokes what she knew little of, and apparently understood nothing at all about. Why she had never even bothered to learn more about dwarfs' ways in all the time she had spent brooding in her chambers. And why she had ignored her own better judgment as she saw sincerity flash like a promise in his eyes just moments ago, as he obviously tried to reassure her, willingly stripping himself of his regal glamour in the process. And she had chosen instead to lay her faith in the dry and tested formulas to be uttered in such a moment, rather than in her own self. She felt shame rising in her, and she hastily tried to make amends. 

Tauriel raised her hand and lightly touched Kili’s shoulder as he was facing away from her.

“My lord, please excuse my hasty words. I have been so absorbed into my own thoughts that I admit I have made assumptions that I had no right to make. Forgive me.”

He half turned her way, and shook his head, as if to deny something. He did not speak.

They spent their wedding night in the clothes they had worn all day, him on the couch in the anteroom, her crushed by the enormity of the luxurious bed and the feeling that, somehow, she had wronged him deeply. Why this bothered her so she could not understand.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote in the beginning is taken from T. S. Eliott's poem "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" (From "Prufrock and Other Observations", 1920) and do not ask me how it found its way into this chapter. It just kept bugging me in the back of my mind, insisting that it went too well with the ambience of this chapter to be left out of it. And so I obliged. The title is also taken from a line of the same poem.


	3. Strangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all of you who left wonderful reviews on the previous chapter, my profound gratitude and humble thanks. You really keep the spark going, and keep me passionate about these two when I almost get mad at them. Who knew that Kiliel fans were the loveliest in fandom ^____^  
> I guess I will not be sticking to the initial three chapters idea, simply because the story seems to have taken a life of its own and refuses to be put out quite so fast. I do not know how many chapters it will take.  
> I have been asked about possible upcoming changes in the rating of the story :) I must admit I'm greatly tempted, but do let's take it one step at a time. Oh ok, ok, I promise it will get hotter in here. There. See? God I'm easy.  
> Lastly, I've been thinking that this story will greatly benefit from a beta reader. If anyone's interested I will be extremely grateful!  
> Much love to you all, you're simply wonderful!

**Chapter 3 – Strangers**

 

 

Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I

look upon you,

You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking,

(it comes to me, as of a dream,)

I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,

All is recall'd as we flit by each other, fluid,

affectionate, chaste, matured,

You grew up with me, were a boy with me, or a girl

with me,

I ate with you, and slept with you—your body has

become not yours only, nor left my body mine

only,

You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as

we pass—you take of my beard, breast, hands,

in return,

I am not to speak to you—I am to think of you when

I sit alone, or wake at night alone,

I am to wait—I do not doubt I am to meet you again,

I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

 

Walt Whitman, “To a stranger”

 

 

 

And so the days went, as the newly wed couple went their separate ways and tried to forget of the other’s existence. After their wedding night Tauriel had been introduced to her own private chambers that were located directly across the king’s own, and she had not seen him in her room again.

She had imagined, during those days of brooding back in Mirkwood which seemed now to be a lifetime ago, that what would haunt her the most in Erebor would be living underground. Nowadays, whenever that memory came to her mind, she would smile with a wistful smile that, if it lingered on her face long enough, would always try to bring tears at its wake.

It was not really dark. A million lamps illuminated the caverns of Erebor, chandeliers burning bright in the wide chambers, torches lining the walls. Gems and gold adorning walls and ceilings glistened in their own right, reflecting the light of the candles to achieve a surreal glitter that gave off the impression that the inside of the mountain was studded with precious metals and stones wherever one looked. Her own chambers were an eerie explosion of light, arranged with such mastery that one had difficulty finding out where it was actually coming from, reflected in mirrors and in polished furniture and rich fabrics. Tauriel felt that she should have been grateful for all this, as it was obvious that someone had given very precise instructions as to achieve a maximum of light in her chambers. But she could not find it in her heart to be grateful, as it grew heavier with every passing day.

She missed the outdoors with every fibre of her body. She would have dreams at night that brought a smile on her lips, dreams that sent her flying through the woods, running so fast that the fresh cool wind was whipping at her hair, and she would run and run and never get tired. She would feel the light of the sun, flowing through the green leaves, caressing her skin, and the sweet light of the stars, illuminating her path in quiet woods as the world fell away and she became one with them. Then she would wake with a start, look around her and behold the golden cage that had been made her home, and silent tears would slowly seep into her pillow, as she lay awake for hours at an end.

 

* * *

 

“Her majesty seems troubled.”

Balin was sitting at an ornate table in the king’s private office, sorting through great amounts of paperwork that seemed to occupy the entire space before him and then some, in great heaps. The disapproval of the chaos that reigned in the room was obvious in the slight curve of his brow, but at least he knew enough of his king to not try and make him sort it, instead taking the task upon himself.

Kili barely looked up from the elaborate treaty he was reading.

“She does?”

Balin set down the latest document belonging to one of the piles with more force than was strictly necessary, sending files flying. With a resigned sigh, he leaned back in his chair.

“Do not tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“As a matter of fact, I have not.” Kili said, his voice even, carefully guarded. “Her majesty and I spend very limited time together. I would say she must be grateful for that, as apparently she does find me rather disgusting.”

Kili went on trying to read the document in front of him, but the silence stretched and, in spite of himself, he looked up again.

Balin was staring at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted two extra heads, both of which claimed to be King under the mountain.

“What in Mahal’s name made you think _that_?”

Kili gave up on the file before him and sighed. It was a battle he could not win, and he was very well aware of this. Balin had known him all his life, and the elder dwarf’s great wisdom and tact had made him a favourite confidante in Kili’s youth, when neither his mother nor, Mahal forbid, his uncle, could be pestered with a youngster’s issues. But Balin had always been there, always reserving a kind word and a soft smile for him, with reassuring words and sound advice at the ready, but never given before they were asked for. And many times, Kili mused, they had to be asked for _twice_.

He suddenly realised that a weight was on his chest; one that he had not even cared to acknowledge before Balin had brought it up, one that needed much belated addressing.

“On our wedding night, she… She held herself as if she were made of stone. I had already decided that, regardless of what tradition demands -” Kili gave Balin a pointed look, silently daring him to go down that path; Balin was too much the diplomat for that, “I would not lay a hand on her, given that our marriage had been arranged for purely political reasons. I said as much, and her reaction was… well, she looked somewhat relieved, but still distant and cold, as if she would have rather been a thousand miles away, facing most anybody else other than me. A king’s generosity is not to be spurned in such a fashion…”

Kili could not continue, as Balin’s eyes flashed and he cut him off mid-sentence.

“I cannot believe you! Is this really the son of my dear friend Dis standing before me, or some dwarfling stranger who is so immature as to presume that what happened was her majesty’s fault?”

Kili’s brows furrowed. “I was being generous, Balin. You do understand it was my right as king and husband to take her in any manner I pleased on my wedding night and nobody would have thought me the lesser for it. Quite on the contrary, in fact.”

“Spoken like a petty tyrant and an ignorant fool.” Kili’s eyes narrowed at this, but he was not given a chance to object. “Do you even realize what the lass has been through? And do not tell me you are in the same boat, because you are not. You are here amongst your own people, in your homeland, your kingdom, while she is a stranger in a foreign land, a place she knows little of and understands even less, where everybody shows her perfect courtesy but no real affection, not even giving her the chance to earn it for herself, all because she is an elf! She would always be different here, and instead of sulking for your wounded pride, you might as well help her accept her life here as something less of a punishment!” Balin’s voice had been rising by the second and Kili winced, as he couldn’t help feeling like a foolish child in need of reprimand.

“And there you go pointing out that she was cold on your wedding night and did not appreciate your “generosity”. How else should she be, when she was probably expecting to be ravished by a dwarvish brute who could not care less about what she wanted? And judging from what you said earlier, she was sadly not mistaken!”

Kili felt heat rising in his face, rose up from where he was sitting and turned angry eyes on Balin. As always, when he felt insecure, his temper got the better of him, urging him on.

“I am King under the mountain and I do as I see fit! It is her duty to obey me and to honor me. How she feels in the process is of little importance.”

All the anger seemed to leave Balin at once at the harsh words, leaving him looking frail and somehow older. The elderly dwarf let out a deep sigh.

“If that is so, then I have misjudged you greatly, Kili. Ruling a kingdom requires wisdom. Maintaining your home requires to let yourself be weak sometimes. Both are needed for a king to be just.”

 

* * *

 

She was growing paler every day, which was hardly noticeable given that her skin was naturally so white most dwarves would have thought it surreal, and the fact that nobody really cared enough to look closer. Her posture lost its grace, her head was held slightly less proudly nowadays, her hands lay lifeless at her sides. The jewels and the fine clothes she wore every day seemed to be dragging her down. Tauriel was withering like a flower plucked up from its soil and thrown in a dark corner to die.

 

Most of her days were spent wandering the halls, as dwarves going about their daily tasks stopped to bow reverently to her, with great displays of courtesy but little true feeling as they hurried to be on their way and out of her sight. Slowly she learned to navigate her way through the great halls of Erebor, and for a time she found pleasure in discovering unknown halls, small corridors where she had to crouch in order to enter, vast chambers where chaos reigned still but where the ancient spirit of ages past was preserved better than in those restored to their full splendor. She had found an ancient library, one that apparently posed no great interest to the dwarves as it was left vastly to ruin, and she spent some weeks coming back to it every day in search of texts she could understand. But the ancient scrolls were written in Khuzdul, and the pointed runes meant nothing to her.

 

She could not help but wonder whether this was to be her life for now on, feeling much like an useless artifact of a contract that was mostly in the way.  She was a living, breathing reminder of cold practicality and politics that did not know how to deal with the consequences of real life and thus left them hidden out of sight. 

 

Winter was roaring outside now, and it had already been more than three months since she entered the mountain as Tauriel, princess of the Woodland realm, and stayed there as Queen under the mountain. She would only see the king on the rare dinner together, and those would usually be formal matters in honor of ambassadors, allies or other envoys, where she would be put next to some courtier from a faraway land who would admire her beauty and talk to her of politics and flatter her, and she would answer with ready courtly phrases and empty flattery. She took her leave earlier and earlier of each such occasion, until the day came when it was announced that Her Majesty was feeling undisposed and will not be able to attend.

 

* * *

 

The ambassador of Rohan, a tall, rough-looking man with a mane of mangled hair the color of sand and a good many missing teeth, gave a leer as the news were brought forth.

“Seems like your Majesty has done what needs to be done to leave the Queen undisposed quite fast indeed. I have only heard legends of the fertility of dwarves, but apparently they ring true!”

There were guffaws all around from his fellow countrymen, all rough men of hardly any courtly manners, as the dwarves around the table shifted in their seats and looked uncomfortably in the way of their King.

Kili did not laugh along with the men. Instead he turned a cold gaze upon the man who had made the sly comment and said dryly,

“Her Majesty’s indisposition is hardly the subject here. Continue with your report of the Southern borders.”

As the man abruptly stopped laughing, possibly annoyed and certain for life that dwarves did not have a sense of humour, Kili ran his finger over the brim of his wine goblet, deep in thought. The news had unsettled him. He could not quite put his finger on it, but there was a gnawing feeling inside him, as if somehow this was his fault, although for reasons very different than the ones stated by the Rohirim.

He had been very uptight when he had discussed the subject of Tauriel with Balin. He had given way to his anger and his annoyance and had said words that were harsh and, he could see now, unfair. Of course, Balin had been right, but the young King under the mountain still had trouble admitting his wrongs. His flaming head, urged forward by his youth, got the better of him way too often, and it was usually up to Balin to talk to him until he saw the errors in his temper-driven ways.

He thought of Tauriel as he had last seen her a few nights ago, dressed in deep blue robes, her hair adorned with sapphires. The more he thought of her, the more he seemed to remember small details that he’d never even thought he had noticed in the first place. Her hair seemed to have lost some of its bold color, but at the time he had only credited it to the dimmed light in the banquet hall; her hands seemed to be weighed down by the weight of her golden bracelets and rings, and she had difficulty lifting her goblet to her lips. She had taken her leave early, earlier than etiquette deemed proper, and, to his shame, he had not even thought twice about it.

As the dinner came to an end and everybody rose to bow to the king as he left, Kili dismissed his aides with a wave of his hand. Then, for the first time, he softly knocked on the door across from his own.

 

* * *

 

She had been lying in her bed for days, burning up with fever. Her face was flushed, her hair damp from sweat, her body so weak she spent most of the time thrashing in some sort of restless, dreamlike state where she knew not whether it was day or night, where everything blurred into a never-ending nightmare of pain, heat and closed spaces. Her eyes were sunken into her face, her skin like parchment. Two of her maids were attending her, one carefully pressing cool wet towels to her burning forehead, the other trying in vain to make some hot soup pass her unresponsive lips. A doctor had been summoned to her the day before, only for him to examine her thoroughly and shake his head in bafflement, finding no obvious cause of any sickness, not even the slightest symptom. He had prescribed bed rest and left it at that, but it was obvious that Tauriel’s bed brought her no rest or repose.

As Kili entered the chamber, there were startled gasps from her maids as they dipped in low, hurried curtsies and were left standing awkwardly about the bed. Hardly even noticing their presence, Kili’s eyes were drawn to the pale form that was hardly visible amidst the white sheets.

He approached slowly, almost holding his breath for fear he might disturb her, but as he came by her bedside he realized that she was not entirely conscious, thrashing about the bed. He felt a sudden, unexpected pain pierce his heart, as he beheld the proud, beautiful elf reduced to a broken heap of pain. Without a second thought, his hand went to her forehead and softly brushed her burning skin.

She seemed to still at his touch, so much so that for a second he withdrew his hand, in fear that he might have hurt her. But as the contact was lost, she let out a low moan and her features formed a pained frown. He quickly put his hand back, this time letting it rest lightly upon her forehead, her skin burning under his fingers. And again she seemed to relax at his touch.

He half turned his head towards the maids, and uttered, “You may leave us,” never even registering their bows as they hurried out of the room and closed the door behind them. His eyes were on Tauriel’s face.

Tauriel. That was her name. He had almost started to think of her as “the Queen” in his mind, not even granting her the use of her given name. Balin had been right to scold him. He had been a brute to this lovely creature now lying broken before him, and he was possibly the one whose fault her state was. As he had treated her, so he had set an example for his people. In return, everybody had been aloof to her, polite to a fault but distant and unaccepting. He imagined stronger souls would have withered in such a hostile environment.

His hand moved from her forehead to her hair, softly caressing the damp strays and unconsciously arranging them back into place. She let out a soft whimper, as she seemed to relax against his hand, muttering something in elvish he did not understand. Seconds later, her breathing seemed to even out, and she let out a soft sigh as she finally drifted off into peaceful sleep.

Kili remained by her bedside that night.

His gaze roamed her face until his eyes grew too heavy to keep them open, and when he closed them he could still see the outlines of her features, the proud arch of her nose, long, dark lashes a stark contrast on painfully white skin, deep dark circles under her eyes that had not been there before, parched pink lips slightly parted. His hand remained in her hair as he drifted to sleep, in a soft, silent caress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another clarification I feel I need to make: I suppose it might be bugging some of you that none of the usual Kiliel-related issues are present in here, especially the deeply rooted mistrust and hatred between elves and dwarves. In my AU, they are simply two peoples that are very different from each other but who have overcome this hatred; of course, Tauriel is a stranger in Erebor, but she is not hated as she would be if she were in the same setting in the movies or books. 
> 
> I am taking a lot of things for granted here, but it's all because I am more concerned with character development, the internal battles being fought regarding one another and their developing feelings rather than the setting and factology.
> 
> Also, I do realise Tauriel is not really herself here, as the fiery spirit we know and love from the movies and many other fics would not have been subdued so lightly. But in my view, she is an elven princess, raised to be submissive, often scolded for her temper, and then of course there is the question of duty, she is trying to do her duty as best as she knows how for the sake of her people and her father's honour, and it's obviously killing her. More of Tauriel in the next chapter, and how her personality is finally allowed to tentatively shine through and begin a process of healing that will vastly include a certain dwarf King. <3


	4. Did one but know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is: another belated update. I must say, this chapter has been the hardest one to write yet, but also somehow the most satisfying one. And I have some amazing news: by some miracle chance of fate, I have found the most gorgeous beta: all hail Maggiemaye, the stars have surely shined upon our meeting :) Many thanks for all the great work you've done on this chapter, any mistakes left are entirely my fault. It is indeed amazing to find someone who loves your story as much as you do, and is passionate to make it the best it can be. It's a bit like having a kid together, when one gets mad at it the other can remind them why it was awesome in the first place. :)
> 
> A big THANK YOU to everyone who stick around for this story, I appreciate each and every comment I get and I surely do not deserve half the good things you say. Much love to you all!
> 
> And now, without further ado, I give you chapter four.

Chapter 4: Did one but know

 

I wish I could remember that first day,

    First hour, first moment of your meeting me,

    If bright or dim the season, it might be

Summer or Winter for aught I can say;

So unrecorded did it slip away,

    So blind was I to see and to foresee,

    So dull to mark the budding of my tree

That would not blossom yet for many a May.

If only I could recollect it, such

    A day of days! I let it come and go

    As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;

It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;

If only now I could recall that touch,

    First touch of hand in hand – Did one but know!

 

Christina Rossetti,

“I wish I could remember that first day”

 

In a dreamlike state, Tauriel felt like she was floating in some hazy heat, suspended in mid-air. Her senses were vague, sounds blurred; she could not really make sense of her surroundings. She felt so weak she could not open her eyes, so as the nightmares came, she had no power but to whimper and thrash about and hope they would leave her be. She had no idea how long it had been, but then she was saved.

She felt a caress.

Hesitant at first, she felt something, someone, touch her brow as if in a dream. She inwardly tensed at the touch, and then realized it was meant to soothe. Her whole being froze; it was the first living touch she had felt under the mountain. For since she had entered it she had only been touched by a crown of precious gold upon her brow, by silks and brocade and precious stones, but not one living hand.

She felt the touch withdraw, and she let out a whimper at the loss, desperate in her dreamlike, feverish state to have back the one thing she could cling to, in order to return from the void that threatened to swallow her whole. And there it was again, that soft touch, this time lingering on her skin as a cool hand rested on her forehead, caressing the fever away.

She let out a muffled sound, and for the first time in days, felt the fever give way to peaceful sleep as she drifted away. The soft touch never left her.

* * *

 

When Tauriel awoke what seemed like days later, she frowned at her surroundings. She felt the burning fever no more, but she felt weak, and most of all, thirsty. She groped at her nightstand with a trembling hand, her fingers brushing a goblet and almost tipping it over, before she managed to wrap her weak fingers around it and clumsily lift it to her mouth. Her tongue felt like a dry piece of cloth in her mouth, and she was sure she couldn’t have been able to utter a word even if she’d wanted to.

She frowned as realization slowly came to her, realization at how close she had actually come to slipping away. Her people were not given the gift of mortality, but they were known to fade, in great sadness and in desperation, when they could perceive no hope left. With a pang in her chest, Tauriel realized that this illness had been one such, an ache of the spirit bound through the sheer force of her will. Her repressed self had been pushing to break free all along, and her will to contain it had grown weaker by the day as she struggled to live up to the expectations and uphold her duty.

And then she froze, as a vision that had been slowly drifting at the edge of her conscience swam unbidden into view. A cool hand, resting upon her head, easing the burning fire within her, drawing her back, reminding her with its gentle touch that there was still something left for her to return to.

It had surely been a dream, a dream brought forth by her feverish state. A dream summoned by a spirit desperate for companionship, for tenderness and warmth. It surely could not be real. There was not a single soul in this mountain that Tauriel knew of, who would have bestowed such a gesture upon her.

She sighed as she sank back in her pillows, turning her head to the side. And she saw, at her bedside, a simple armchair, which had certainly not been there before. Upon it rested, creased and twisted and half falling to the ground, a rich mantle the color of molten silver. A mantle fit for a king.

* * *

  

Kili rubbed his temples as the restless night was finally taking its toll on him at the end of a tedious day. Try as he might, he could not seem to concentrate on the inner council’s meeting, and he tried to seem absorbed into the documents before him so that he didn’t have to pay attention to the discussion going around him.

In truth, he was more confused than he was tired. His mind kept replaying the previous night, and Tauriel’s pale, lifeless face came unbidden in his thoughts. All morning he had been shying away from thoughts of her, stuffing them deliberately in the back of his mind, but as tiredness got the better of him as the day dragged on it was getting harder and harder to avoid it.

He had not given much thought to Tauriel’s existence ever since their unfortunate wedding night, when he had extended a hand in companionship and she had blatantly refused it. At least, this was the version of events he kept telling himself. Ever since the conversation with Balin, little seeds of doubt had been sown, seeds that after the events of last night blossomed into very vivid and unavoidable thoughts that he could not ignore anymore.

He felt guilty. He felt unsettled. Most of all, he felt as though he owed her something. Even worse, what he owed her, he felt he shouldn’t give out of sheer obligation, but out of his own free will, for the pure joy it would bring to a soul in pain.

In short, Kili wanted to do something, for someone, for their own sake and not his own, without expecting anything in return, for the first time since he could remember.

* * *

 

Tauriel sat in the ancient library, shivering a little, even though she was covered in warm furs that her maids had absolutely refused to let her go without, so soon after her sickness.

The vast, abandoned chamber was cooler than most, left in its ruin of dust and scrolls. She wrapped the furs tighter about her, as her cold fingers were numbly going through a scroll, trying to make sense of it.

“Mayhap her Majesty could use some assistance with this?”

The soft voice startled her out of her reverie. Balin came before her, a warm smile on his honest, wrinkled face, and she couldn’t help but smile back. She could not remember the last time her facial muscles had arranged themselves into a smile.

“I am infinitely glad to see your Majesty up and about, and looking as charming as ever.” Balin said at length, with a low bow.

Tauriel found herself waving her hand in a slightly embarrassed manner.

“Please, do not bow before me. Do not call me “your Majesty”. Can we just keep the informality of our conversations from back in the Woodland realm?”

“As my lady wishes. You do great honour to this old dwarf.” He inclined his head in reverence. “You seem to be finding this pile of dust and cobwebs to your liking.” He indicated in the direction of the shelves upon dusty shelves of volumes and scrolls, obscured in darkness and cobwebs.

Tauriel let out a small smile.

“My father had a fond interest in books; many would be surprised to learn he is in fact more of a scholar than a warrior. As a young one I have spent many an hour with him, surrounded by scrolls, as he was working on complicated Sindarin translations. The smell and feel of paper, the silent benediction of it have always reminded me of these days past, filled with calm and peace.” Her hand touched lightly on the rough parchment before her. “ I wish I could read this.”

Balin inclined his head so he could read the runes that were upside down to him.  His eyes widened a fraction, as he murmured under his breath as he read.

“My lady would certainly find this interesting. This is none else than a copy of the great “Songs of Durin”, an anthology of ancient dwarvish poetry, assembled by none other than Raelin the Bard, one of our most ancient poets, dating all the way back to the times of Durin.”

Tauriel tried her best to look impressed, although neither the title nor the author was even remotely familiar to her. Still, in the aftermath of her sickness, her spirit was healing, and her restless nature, awakening as if from a long sleep, was madly writhing around to find something, anything that would give her meaning and a task to occupy her days with. She found herself speaking words that the Tauriel who had entered the mountain a few months ago in grace and cold dignity would not have dared to utter.

“Balin, could you teach me Khuzdul?”

There was a sharp intake of breath, as the old dwarf’s eyes widened in disbelief, followed quickly by a look of pleasure spreading on his features, one that he hastened to expel in uncertainty. She beheld him as his face changed, and she knew exactly the inner battle that was being held within him. Dwarves’ suspicious nature and secretive ways would of course forbid him from revealing their native tongue and its secrets to a foreigner, and an elf at that, that was beyond doubt. But then, this elf was in fact Queen under the mountain, and she had every right to learn the language of her subjects, her new people, her lord and husband. And besides, Balin oh-so-loved to give instruction, and it had been many a year since he’d had the pleasure of it, what with war, dangerous quests and the like.

She kept her silence and sure enough, she saw a wide smile blooming on Balin’s face.

“I would be honored, my lady. Should we perhaps transfer to my private study, where we might have some warmth, parchment and quills?”

* * *

 

Tauriel groaned aloud as she beheld the unruly characters in front of her, written in her own hand. She had never been the most graceful with words, but six hundred years of practice, together with her father’s once gentle, but firm instruction, had her at an altogether excellent level when it came to her native Sindarin.

Apparently she lacked the gift for languages. The guttural sounds seemed foreign and ugly to her; the sharp runes even more so. Still, she had been giving it her best for the past few hours, as Balin had left her to practice alone, excusing himself for having to attend a meeting. She felt just like an elfling given homework, and she was afraid she wasn’t living up to the expectations once more.

Tauriel dropped the quill in exasperation and rested her head on her ink-stained hands. Her mind drifted, as she tried to find something, anything, that would make the foreign sounds come more naturally to her, to lose some of their sharpness.

Unbidden, a voice came into her mind, a soft voice uttering words she did not understand, but the sound of which she seemed to remember surprisingly well. She closed her eyes as she remembered a dais decorated in gold and precious jewels, where she was standing together with Kili, her soon-to-be husband. She had been aloof and dignified, inwardly terrified but hell bent on not letting any of it show on her face. She remembered how the ancient dwarf before them, reading from a book even more ancient than himself, slowly repeated in a hoarse voice words she did not understand, and Kili spoke them slowly, reverently, in his turn. She remembered the earnest look in his face, a regal dignity touching his features precisely because he was completely unaware of it, as his tongue rolled around the short syllables, the long vowels, the impossible groupings of consonants, the guttural sounds escaping his throat like whispered exclamations. The language that had seemed so crude to her as she listened to the old dwarf sounded softer now, gentle, and even intimate in a way. Her eyes had drifted to his moving lips of their own volition, and she had quickly looked away, steadying her gaze once more on the dwarf performing the wedding ceremony – the eldest dwarf in Erebor, she was told, had the honor and traditional role of conducting the ritual, for kings and common folk alike.

She tried to imitate now the softer way in which Kili spoke Khuzdul. Maybe it was a local dialect, or maybe it was just up to the speaker and their personality? Whatever the reason may be, as she read once more the runes before her, deliberately slowing herself down, rolling her tongue around them as she made them out, the result seemed better this time.

The door opened and Balin entered the study once more, weary but as he looked at the mess of runes on her parchment, his eyes lit up and he spoke with haste.

“I half expected to find you long gone, my lady, and this parchment before you in ruins upon the floor. Khuzdul is long known to be one of the most difficult and frustrating tongues to learn. Well done, you have passed the test!”

She found herself chuckling.

“And what test may that be, Master Balin? Surely you credit me with a little more patience than your average dwarfling learning his letters.”

“With your fiery hair? I doubt that patience is the best of your qualities, lass!” The words left his mouth before he could think, and she could see him stumble as he realized this could probably be taken for impertinence. She let out a shrill laugh, happy to be addressed with such teasing ease once more, eager to reassure her one friend under the mountain.

“Well put! In fact I have been known for my fiery temper back in the Woodland realm, something that you can be sure gave great pains to my father. He always did seem to be disappointed in me, for behaving more like one of his guard in fight and in drink, not like a princess is supposed to behave.” She let out a sad kind of smile. However did she allow the conversation to take this turn?

Balin, on his part, seemed pensive at her statement, softly chuckling under his breath.

“Your description certainly reminds me of someone.”

“Oh? Who, pray tell?” Tauriel said, intrigued.

“Well, no other than our king.” Balin chuckled. “I’ve known him since the day he was born, and well, to say he was a nuisance and a trouble maker will be putting it mildly. Always up and about, always getting his brother into trouble, he was. Not a still second for our Kili. His mother gave him to my instruction in the hope of pounding some sense into that thick head, and I would never forget that time when I entered his study chamber to find something the magnitude of a hurricane had passed through the books and parchments, and our young prince nowhere to be seen.”

Tauriel listened with a smile. Somehow, she could imagine the whole scene very well – it was something she had often had her tutors put up with herself, and oft times only her being a princess had saved her from writing the poem of Luthien and Beren a hundred times as punishment. And that one was a hundred pages long.

“It’s just…” She tried to explain. “There is a whole world out there, forests to explore, bow and sword practice to attend, eager friends…”

“Fiery souls, the both of you,” said the old dwarf with a mischievous flame in his eyes. “Mayhap we have made a better match than anyone had ever hoped.”

Tauriel averted her eyes, embarrassed all of a sudden. She thought of how little time she had actually spent with her husband, how little she knew him, how probably it was going to stay that way.

“Fire in itself burns everything to ash.”

“And from ash springs forth rejuvenation and new hope.” Balin cleared his throat. “So repeat again, my lady: _Dayamu Khuzan ai-menu_. * Yes, that is just right. How you do roll the vowels! As though I hear my own people speak, back in the Blue mountains…”

* * *

  

Kili was pacing in his chambers, as an idea was bouncing inside his head. With every step he thought to execute it, with every other step he shook his head in disbelief, feeling himself the fool for even thinking about this.

And then Kili remembered the pale face on the pillow, the graceful creature locked inside a golden cage like a wild beast. With his mind made up, he exited his chambers, and before he could think himself out of it, gave two sharp knocks on the elaborately decorated door directly facing his own.

There was muted noise inside, as the rustles of fabric came closer to the door, and Tauriel appeared. She was still dressed (for which he gave silent thanks), wrapped in a long robe of the deepest forest green. She could see her start as she saw him, before remembering herself and sweeping him a bow.

“My lord?” Her voice was controlled, her eyes guarded.

Belatedly, Kili realized she might take his late night call as an invitation to consummate what they had not on their wedding night. He felt like kicking himself for his stupidity.

“My lady. I hope I have not disturbed your rest.” Was his first feeble attempt at reassurance.

She shook her head. “Not at all, my lord. Is there anything I can do for you?”

There it was again, the look of a captured wild animal in her eyes, the sound of resignation in her voice. As if whenever it came to him, she expected the worst and prepared for it accordingly. But he’d be thrice damned if he’d let his temper and his vanity take hold of him again. He could see now, as he looked at her face, that right beneath the surface of her cold façade was a whole universe of feeling, just waiting to be allowed to come to the surface. And he wanted to see these feelings, see her for who she really was.

“I was wondering if I might take you for a little late night walk? There is something I have a mind to show you.”

If he had surprised her with this, she did not bat an eye.

“Certainly, my lord. I am always at your disposal.”

He inwardly rolled his eyes at her use of high courtly phrases, but once again he reminded himself it was a mechanism of self-preservation. And he reminded himself to breathe.

She grabbed a long fur and wrapped it around her slender form as she exited her chambers and softly pulled the door shut. He nodded in satisfaction, then turned and started walking, her footsteps echoing close behind him. Neither of them spoke as they navigated dimly lit hallways, turning this way and that. After a while, cool air started coming at them in long gusts, and he could hear her gasp softly as she realized they were headed outside. The long tunnel framed with torches went on for what seemed like forever, and gradually frost appeared on the stone walls, as it got colder and colder before, without any notice, the tunnel ended and he realized he was walking on alone, the snow softly creaking under his boots, for she had stopped at the opening of the tunnel, rooted to the spot.

It was a winter garden, set on a wide terrace completely covered in snow. The moon shone straight above, a crescent so clear and bright in the cold night air it seemed to fill the sky, the stars around it paler in its light but no less beautiful. The light reflected in the virgin snow exuded a blue, surreal glow, reflecting off the sides of the terrace, sided by cliffs and mountainous slopes, a tiny miracle amidst the rough stone, as though one had to merely blink and it will seize to exist. The dark silhouettes of leafless trees could be seen, together with small benches covered in snow.

Kili turned around to face her, and he saw the moonlight reflected in a single tear that slowly slid down her cheek. Holding his breath without even realizing it, he half expected it to freeze right there, but it slid down and took flight off her face, disappearing into the snow.

Tauriel swallowed once, took a tentative step forward, then another one. Lighter on her feet, Kili noticed how she barely left footsteps in her wake, the only telltale sign of her left on the snow was her sweeping train, leaving a shallow pathway in her wake. She looked at him, still unable to speak, and in this moment he realized, with a pang, that he had been asked silent permission. This sudden realization tore to his heart, and for the first time the phrase “Her lord and husband” took meaning in his mind and he grasped its full implications, the implications that have been pressed upon her so hard that they had become second nature to her. And with a fiery passion, that did not waver for the cold all around, he knew then with steel certainty that he wanted her to stop feeling this way about him, to see him for who he really was. To have her own self shine through that regal façade so that they both might meet halfway. Her true self and his true self

So he swept her a deep bow, and said,

“It is yours. May you find it in your heart to forgive… my queen.”

A start, disbelief, then a sudden realization crossed her face, quick as thought, and then it was gone. But a softness remained in her eyes, a softness that certainly was not there before. A softness Kili realized he would do many a thing to see more of.

A slender hand stretched out, hesitantly, and touched his own.

“ _Dolzekh menu”_. *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dayamu Khuzan ai-menu – Blessings of the ancestors upon you (Dwarvish farewell) 
> 
> *Dolzekh menu – Thank you


	5. The end of winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much later than was promised, but still I take this opportunity to wish you all a Happy New Year! Have an inspiring 2016, and never seize to inspire fandom in turn! Much love to you all.  
> I would also like to take this opportunity to fall all over the place with love for my amazing beta, Maggiemaye, who moulded this chapter into something amazing out of the crude draft I sent her way. You are a sorceress, my dear! I cannot thank you enough. I have a little present for you in the unbetaed part of this chapter, see if you can find it :) Hint: it's a sentence I think you'd love.  
> I'd like to gift this chapter to the amazing Avelera, as reading "Prayers to broken stone" with its gorgeous descriptions of Erebor made me bold enough to brave some descriptions of my own, where I wouldn't have dared before. This is also one of the most brilliant works in the Bagginshield fandom, a must-read if you haven't already.
> 
> For all of you still here for this, I hope you enjoy the latest update. We're slowly getting there...

**The end of winter**

 

 

Here where the wind is always north-north-east

And children learn to walk on frozen toes,

Wonder begets an envy of all those

Who boil elsewhere with such a lyric yeast

Of love that you will hear them at a feast

Where demons would appeal for some repose,

Still clamoring where the chalice overflows

And crying wildest who have drunk the least.

 

  _New England, E.A. Robinson_

 

If one so chose to wander the halls of Erebor on this late winter night, the heat coming from the forges would probably make them shake off their winter coat in a hurry. The caverns would prove as illustrious as one has been told, and more. And one might wander and wonder and as it is, one might come upon a secluded garden, far away from the hustle and bustle of the main halls, where dozens upon dozens of busy dwarves go about their everyday business. A small thing it is, in no way splendid, and during the day one can see the sun reflected in its snow-covered terrace, but more often than not, it is clouded in mountain mists, so deep and impenetrable that one might wander as far as the main pathway before making out a lone figure, standing quietly and gazing into the mist, lost in thought. This figure might come across as strange, when one realizes it is not the size of a dwarf, but rather a slender tall stranger, graceful even under the heavy winter furs that adorn them.

An elf, in the very heart of the mountain, standing outside and for all the cold and the milky mists, her heart overflowing with joy.

Tauriel would come here often, ever since the night Kili had brought her here first. The bitter wind did not bother her, for it hurried past her cold cheek with a caress she had missed for far too long, and the occasional sunbeam would reflect in her brilliant hair as she basked in its rare light. But she still preferred the stars, shining bright, on nights crisp and cold when the sleeping mountain seemed to open up to her at last, basking in her admiration as she gazed and gazed upon its snowy slopes, deep in thought.

She had never been the pensive one; since childhood, she had always been a wild spirit, restless and free. But long years of training in the courtly airs of high-born elven nobility had provided her with the tools for passing as the proper eleven maiden, demure and quiet. This has been expected of her, ever since she set foot in the mountain.

Or so she had thought.

* * *

 

_A young dwarf king, barely a hundred years old, his eyes glinting with delight he could not quite hide as he dashed this way and that, navigating the mountainous caverns with the ease of long habit, as she struggled to keep pace, light on her feet as she was. She had been surprised to find him at her door, and had followed him in obedience, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief that his late-time visit was not of another nature._

_The first touch of cold breeze on her face. Her hesitant step in the virgin snow._ _The garden, silent and still in the light of the crescent moon._ _These she would always remember, as fragments of a perfect dream._

_And his face. Tense, anticipating. Hopeful, but unsure._

As her thoughts revisited this memory over and over, she began to slowly realize that the reason for his hesitance had been she alone. He had been anxiously awaiting her reaction. And he had just presented her with a gift. A gift he did not have to give. Just as he did not have to stay by her side as she burned with fever, he did not have to place a cool hand on her brow, to give her the first sign of gentleness in so long a time. The first touch of skin on burning skin.

She usually lurched in her head as her thoughts drifted to that night, and put them at a standstill. But try as she might, she could not avoid the thought that had it not been for his touch, she could’ve slipped away into that silent land where no more pain or heartache could touch her, waiting for her just beyond the edge of consciousness, and she only had to reach out…

The touch of his hand had brought her back. And the gift of the garden he had made her had given her back some of the life she had lost.

Stronger souls have warmed up to their captors for smaller favors. 

* * *

 

Balin, entering her study chambers quietly, stood rooted to the spot as Kili leaned over her, his dark hair slightly brushing her shoulder, pointing out that letter she had missed in her careful, stumbling reading.

“It’s “Tan menu selek lanun naman;” it means, “May your forge burn bright.” His voice was slightly smug as he intoned the ancient well wish, as if inwardly basking in it.

Balin almost fell over as he heard her bubbling laughter, and he could see her shaking her head in incredulity.

“Now, my lord, what kind of greeting would that be? Do all your greetings mention forges and mithril? Oh, and I almost forgot – and beards, too! I am afraid I might be found quite lacking, either way.”

Her tone was clearly teasing, and Kili’s eyes lit up in return as he adopted a mock dignified expression.

“No one can give a compliment like a dwarf, my lady. There is nothing more pleasing to the eye than a well-tended forge, or a well-tended beard, as far as a lady is concerned.” His mouth seemed to run faster than his mind, for he stopped dead in his tracks, coloring a little and looking at her sideways, as if to see whether she had taken offence.

As it was, Tauriel narrowed her eyes, and in a voice meant to sound despairing but coming through as barely containing amusement, said,

“Then I am afraid I’d be forever deemed ugly and unattractive, even more so than an orc! Woe to me…”

“Here”, he hastened to change the subject, as he grabbed a quill and fiercely scribbled down something on the parchment before them. “This is a dwarven compliment too, and an ancient one, at that. This suits you better, I think. Even if it does mention beards. Ample evidence to our boorish ways. Pray excuse me, my lady.”

Balin barely had time to quickly duck down the corridor as a very flustered king made his haste excuses and left the chamber.

* * *

 

Tauriel, wondering, made slow progress on translating the sentence scribbled in quick-hand Khuzdul before her. But when she finally did, she stared at it even longer.

“Ekespu menu men o targu men”, barely readable, smudges of ink clearly visible as if the hand that wrote it needed to do so quickly, lest it shied away.

Underneath, her careful writing:

“You mean more to me than my beard.”

* * *

 

She strolled out of her chambers, with half a mind to visit the ancient library, when she heard more of a hustle and bustle than was usual for this time of day. As she made her way towards the noise, she came upon the main chamber, an enormous thing with ceilings so high one could barely discern the lights flowing down; it was more of a huge cavern, where the main business in the mountain was conducted, where news was passed around, where one went to meet friends and hear the latest gossip.

But today, a curious sight greeted her – on one side of it there was an unruly bundle of tents, too small to be set up for anyone else than dwarves, but with none of the glamour that came so naturally to the dwarves of Erebor. As she slowly drifted their way, driven by curiosity, she overheard bits and snippets of conversation – “the Gudzuldal…”, “travellers”, “menekh kalsuz” (said in a slightly condescending manner; from the little Khuzdul she now understands she could roughly translate the words in the lines of “travelling entertainers”). On an impulse, she swirled around and stopped somebody passing close by.

“Jemut men…” she began in stumbling Khuzdul, and stopped mid-sentence as big grey eyes widened before her, and a head of wild blond curls was abruptly dropped low in a clumsy curtsy.

“Your Majesty”, the one curtsying before her sounded slightly out of breath and scared out of her wits, and Tauriel belatedly realized that, having chosen the curtsy instead of the usual bow, the dwarf before her was a female, and her curiosity instantly took over.

“Please, rise.” She said awkwardly, still feeling very much ill at ease in her queenly part. Before her sickness, her aloofness and air of dignified disconnection had prevented her from really interacting with her surroundings; but ever since the garden, she was feeling more and more at ease.

“What is your name?” It seemed to Tauriel to be the polite thing to ask.

Grey eyes widened even further. “Linaz, if it pleases your Majesty.” Unsure eyes drifted towards her, examining her in earnest, then probably remembering this could be taken for insolence they darted right off again, and Tauriel had to suppress a smile.

“Linaz, I have a mind to ask you a few questions.” The head bobbed eagerly at this. “Who are these dwarves, come hither in the dead of winter? I have heard the words “Gudzuldal”, and “menekh kalsuz”, so I’d guess they are some sort of travelling entertainers?” Tauriel stopped, her brow furrowing. The dwarf before her seemed to be having trouble breathing. “Linaz?”

The head nodded, once, twice. “Forgive this ignorant fool, your Majesty. It’s just that… to be addressed by the Queen, and in such polite tones such as this… it is an extreme honor and one that this lowly dwarf has done nothing to deserve…”

Tauriel smiled, cautiously, benevolently, so as to fit more into the regal ideas of her interlocutor while remaining friendly. “Never mind the titles and the honor. I am a woman starved for entertainment, and this is as curious a sight as I’ve seen in a long age. Would you tell me about them?”

Linaz nodded, eagerly this time, some of her wide-eyed terror gone.

“It’s the Gudzuldal, your Majesty. Travelling dwarfs, nomads, if it pleases you. They travel the land, never once settling down to make their own home,” her nose wrinkled in distaste, “living in tents, setting their camp wherever they please and leaving just as suddenly. Dwarves they may be, but their ways are strange, perhaps closer to those of men than to my kind. They do not have use of the crafts, nor do they settle underground, as proper folk should,” again, her disdain was plain as day, “but they are poets, and musicians, and fortune tellers and such, your Majesty. A most unbecoming lot, if you don’t mind me adding, but winters are long here, and everyone can use a good song or a new story. They bring tales of the world, and they know secrets.”

Tauriel could feel the excitement bubbling up inside her, and felt surprise chasing not far behind: her curiosity was bubbling to the surface, as if it had been suppressed all the while, one of the defining traces of her nature.

“Would you accompany me to their camp, Linaz? I have a mind to meet them, although I fear I might have trouble conversing with them. Are they fluent in the common tongue?”

“They should be, your majesty. Maybe not the elderly ones, though. I will be honored to be of use to you.”

Linaz bobbed her head in a curtsy again, this one much less strained and for that, infinitely more graceful. Her beard was thin, curly and the color of straw, her clothing simple but clean. Tauriel felt comforted by her presence.

As they neared the small grouping of tents, curious heads started peeping out of folds and flaps as if by command, giving her curious looks before they swiftly disappeared again. These dwarves were slightly shorter than the dwarves of Erebor, less mightily built. They reminded her of an ancient race of small creatures called hobbits, she had read about them in books. They had stalls set around the tents, selling trinkets that could not even begin to measure up to the spectacular jewels forged in Erebor, but had nevertheless a calming, appealing way about them that made her stop and look. There were musical instruments for sale, too, and talismans for good luck, and beads made of clay and wood. As they turned a corner, Tauriel almost stumbled upon a bundle on the ground; only it was not a bundle but an old dwarf, almost doubled over by the years. Without thinking, Tauriel caught the elderly dwarf before they fell, and was startled at how light they were. By her side, Linaz gave a muffled yelp as she swiftly moved forth to steady the dwarf herself, as if in a silent bid to protect the queen from thus soiling her hands.

“An elf!” Crooked a voice like the creaking of trees, come deep out of the folds of the sack-like cloth. “In all my years, I never thought the day will come to see an elf in Erebor!”

Linaz opened her mouth to speak, indignation coloring her face, but Tauriel raised a hand and almost winced aloud when the dwarf abruptly choked on her unspoken words, obeying her wordless command.

Tauriel smiled to the old woman and inclined her head just a bit. “Welcome to Erebor,  _naneth_.”

The old woman looked up, a slow smile spreading on her wrinkled face.

Linaz chose this moment to step quickly in front of Tauriel, indignation making her bold, and before she could stop her, barked out,

 “It is in the presence of royalty that you find yourself, so bow your head and speak to her as befits the Queen under the mountain!”

Tauriel sucked in a startled breath at hearing the soft-spoken Linaz address the elderly woman with such rough words. But part of her calmed down almost immediately, as she realized Linaz was merely frightened of Tauriel being offended when not given her due in respect and reverence. To her mind came the tales she’d heard more than once, of the infamous stubbornness of dwarves, of how easily they took offense and could hold a grudge over millennia. Linaz was in fact sparing the old dwarf from punishment, as best as she knew how.

The elderly dwarf blinked, then slowly, the years weighing her down, dipped her head low as she mumbled under her breath _, “Mae l’ovannen, bereth.”_

Tauriel let out a gasp as she heard the Sindarin greeting. It was also the first time she had been called “Queen” in her own tongue. It sounded strange, out of place, almost sacrilegious; she felt undeserving of the word used to address Elbereth and Melian in the Ancient times, and the lady Galadriel in this age of the world.

“How did you come to speak the Elven tongue?” She asked in turn in Sindarin.

“I have travelled the world for a very long time, and where I have lived, I have learned.” The old eyes were looking at her calmly, impossible to read.

Tauriel sighed. “Please forgive the harsh words spoken to you by my companion. She meant no offense.”

The old dwarf inclined her head. “None was taken. But a most unusual queen you are, child, to care so of someone so much below your station. It is not the dwarven way.”

“It is my way”, Tauriel spoke before thinking better of it, in the common tongue.

The dwarf eyed her with keen interest and a sparkle in her eye.

“Come hither, my child. Give me your hand. It is an ancient craft that I yield, and one that has yet to spare anyone, be they man, elf or dwarf. The lowliest and the most exalted alike succumb to that which is written in the flesh.”

Puzzled, Tauriel offered her hand and the old woman grasped it with her own surprisingly strong, claw-like hands, turning it palm up and peering at it in the dim light.

She muttered under her breath for a while, and then let go a chuckle. “Well, that is indeed surprising. You, my child, will do well to take better care of yourself. Why, the shadow almost came to claim you, not a moon ago. You were saved by no feat of yours I might add, too. Look with the eyes less and with the heart more. A cool hand graced your head, a warm heart beats for you, have you but sight to reach for it…”

Tauriel snatched her hand back, abruptly, as Linaz’s eyes widened and her mouth made a silent “O”.

* * *

 

On her way back, she was lost in thought. Having taken her leave of Linaz, leaving the old woman behind at the tents, Tauriel could not escape her thoughts so lightly. She was so absorbed in them that she almost failed to notice a door ajar at the same part where the royal quarters were situated. She peered in and caught a glimpse of dark hair, a head bent over a table, and a mantle of molten silver. Her breath caught in her throat, and in spite of herself she entered the room. Kili was fast asleep, his head laid on his hands, on the table before him an elaborate document drafted in Khuzdul, bearing his remarks. His hand was stained by ink, staining in turn his cheek as it rested upon it. His lips were slightly parted, his forehead weary.

Tauriel walked towards him and stopped, her hand, the same hand that still tinged with the touch of the old soothsayer, stretching out of its own accord to rest on Kili’s forehead. Only this time, everything was reversed, as his forehead felt cool under her fingers, and her own hand seemed to be burning hot. She peered at his face, and her brows furrowed in concentration, as if she was looking for some sign. A sign of what, she could not quite fathom.

A hand shot up, quick as thought, and the next thing she knew, her hand was locked in a firm grip as deep brown eyes, still unfocused from slumber tried to concentrate on her face. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a second, she dared not breathe. As his eyes focused on her, his brows furrowed, his lips parted and uttered a single word, in wonder and in doubt,

“Tauriel?”

Transfixed, she stared at him, as if she was seeing him for the first time, as time stood still and everything fell away. And her own mouth parted, and words came unbidden out of it, words she did not recognize until she heard them ring in her ears:

“It was you. It was your caress that brought me forth from the darkness. If it hadn’t been for you, I would have slipped away and sickness consumed me. I… I never expressed my gratitude… It was your touch…”

Tears were streaming down her face and by the time she realized it, he had lifted a finger and gently brushed a tear away.

Another second passed by, as tears silently fell, and then she was on her knees, her head pressed to his chest, and she was sobbing as if her heart would break, as if all her terrible loneliness, and her crushed dreams, and her pride came pouring forth in a stream unleashed by the simple mention of her name: the first time she had heard it said to her face, in all the time she had been here.

A warm scent enveloped her, a feeling of being safe the like of which she had never known before, as lips pressed to her hair, and a mutter she barely heard said,

“For you, a thousand times over, _athanu men_.”

* * *

 

And if one would so choose to stand outside, on the snowy terrace, one might but blink and miss it – a single drop of water, dripping off an icicle.

The first drop of spring.

 

 

 

 

 

Naneth – mother (Sindarin)

Athanu men – my queen (Khuzdul)

_Mae l’ovannen, bereth. – You are well met, queen (reverential). (Sindarin)_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mea culpa, I did it - I tied the progress of Kili and Tauriel's relationship with the seasons. You have every right to throw the cheese my way :D


	6. A willing heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we carry on, and we finally get to see some progress with those two. Just give up already, we all know you're meant to be, duhh :)   
> As always, great thanks to my gorgeous beta Maggiemaye, for all the patience and support. I think you should consider a career in editing. Like seriously.  
> This is the second-from-last chapter, and as we're slowly drawing to a close, I'd like to say I chose not to make a change in the rating, as was suggested a few chapters ago. Somehow the flow won't allow it; I'm a big fan of explicit works, but I don't think it will do good to this one. Sorry if I disappoint anyone with this. I can promise you no smut; but fluff and comic situations and funny dialogue and generally learning-to-love-one-another will be all yours in the next chapter.
> 
> But meanwhile, let us behold how it actually came to pass... or, the chapter where they finally KISS.  
> Much love to you all, for sticking with me so far. <3

 

**A willing heart**

 

Speak it no more--no more with words profane

What only for the language of the eye

Is fit--what only can be told thereby!

The heart has tones which words cannot contain,

And feelings which to speak is to restrain.

 

Thomas Burbage, "Silent language"

 

The members of the small council could not recall the last time his majesty Kili, King under the mountain, had entered the council chambers wearing a smile on his face. A collective startled breath was sucked in all around the round oaken table as mouths were closed by force of propriety and eyes were widened out of sheer shock.

Kili did not notice any of this. He was not even aware of the small, secretive smile that illuminated the side of his upturned lips – a little painfully so, as the same side of his mouth was cracked and puffy from being split not an hour before. Blood had dried and was washed away carefully, but even so, the purple puffiness promised to grace the king’s lip for some time to come. That was what the small council was looking at, shock plain as day on their startled faces.

Kili lifted a regal hand to wave the shock away.

“Combat practice. You should see the other… combatant.”

A sudden coughing fit overtook him.

 

* * *

_Earlier:_

Sparring practice had always been a highlight in Kili’s tedious days of attending endless meetings and negotiations. More often than not, he would be too hard pressed for time, as meetings would often drag out well into the night. Combat practice was always the first to be cancelled, on days such as these.

Today, though, he had managed to make his excuses out of an early lunch with a couple of dwarves from the Blue Mountains, who happened to be his distant cousins and could therefore do without his company for a few hours without being offended. Now, Kili was shedding his royal mantle as he strode down the long corridor, unbuttoning the buttons made of precious stones with nimble fingers and handing the mantle without halting once to his adjutant Galin walking close on his heels. The young dwarf was having trouble matching the eager king’s long, impatient strides.

Kili could feel the anticipation rising in prickles through his body. He had always been one of action, one whose hot head tended to get the better of him. It had taken him many a hard year of training to tame his line’s infamous hot temper, and that was not always successfully done. While his kingly duties took him from the raised dais in the ornately decorated hall of audience to the privacy of the negotiations table on a daily basis, where he truly felt himself was right where he was headed now – the fencing room. That was where he could strip off his royal dignity and leave it lying on the ground like the burden it was. That was _his_ time, the time to lose himself in movement swift and graceful, deadly in its beauty, his whole body alert, as his fingers, getting all too gentle from handling elaborate gifts of reverence and signing contracts with a quill, clasped once more the hilt of his trusted sword, awakening the calluses on his palm which this very sword had shaped over the years.

Humming with anticipation, he finally reached the massive double doors that were flung open by the pair of guards standing on either side, accompanied by their low, respectful bows.

As he turned to the smaller side door of the armory, his head abruptly snapped to attention: he heard a sharp cry pierce the silence. With it came the sound of metal clashing against metal, and a low grumble that could have been a curse in unmistakable Khuzdul.

Curious, Kili exited the armory and followed the well-lit corridor along to the part where it widened and turned into a vast, circular room, bright torches lining the crude stone walls, the floor simple earth. He had unknowingly crept along the wall, for he remained hidden from view as he beheld the sight before him, and his jaw promptly dropped.

His master-at-arms, Gidor, was covered in sweat, his posture rigid, as he warded off blow after blow landed his way by none other than the Queen under the mountain herself. Kili sucked in a startled breath and his eyes widened.

His back pressed against the cold wall, he beheld Tauriel as she swirled in a dance of impossible speed, her hair whipping about her leaving the impression of the whole scene being on fire. He beheld her as he had never seen her before, her pale cheeks flushed with the strain of the exercise, her green eyes bright, shining with determination and excitement. Her movements exuded such grace in their deadly precision that she seemed like some impossible vision descended from the depths of time, when the Valars had created Arda in a swirl of song and starlight and fought Melkor, called Morgoth, in all their deadly glory. Or so he remembered reading, in an elven book a very long time ago.

She was dressed in a simple tunic of faded brown, wearing armor of plain boiled leather, her feet clad in rough boots. Gidor, one of his finest swordsmen, proved in many a battle, seemed hard put at holding his ground against her, looking for a weak spot he could not seem to find. Blinding energy radiated from her very being, and the pure joy of a spirit unleashed after a long time of restraint.

The cold stone at his back suddenly felt to Kili in stark contrast to the heat that had started pooling into his chest. For a moment that stretched impossibly in time, he felt as though he had trouble breathing, as the focus of his whole being became this creature of light and fire that made death look like a blessed gift as long as it was bestowed by her hand. The elf he had become accustomed to see in robes of brocade and tiaras of sapphire had always seemed distant to him, aloof, her face cast in shadows, her shoulders sagging, since the very fist day he set eyes on her. And in this moment, as if a fire of understanding was lit inside him, sweeping and scorching with it all in its way, Kili realized it was all a part she had played, one she displayed for all to see. This elven maiden in the abandon of the fight was Tauriel, daughter of Thranduil, pure and true.

He was startled out of his reverie when, quick as thought, there was a thud and Gidor was flat on his back, both Tauriel’s blades pointed at his throat, crossing each other slightly at the tips, almost brushing against the soft spot where warm pulse moved the skin. Kili could not for the life of him see how it had happened.

Tauriel sheathed her blades in one fluid movement, securing them in the leather straps on her upper back, between her shoulder blades, and offered the fallen dwarf a hand. Her voice was underlined with mirth as she said,

“Well fought, Master Gidor. A fine fight you gave me, and finer skill you possess. My husband is surely proud to have you amongst his elite guard.”

“Hang it, lass!” the flustered dwarf grudgingly took the offered hand and straightened himself, wincing as he stretched his back. “Your kind words do little for this ‘ere old fool, who had the nerve to challenge your Majesty as he did.”

Tauriel tossed her hair. “Nonsense. I thank _you_ , for it has been many a moon since last I had the occasion to unsheathe my blades against a worthy opponent.”

The dwarf was getting out of his armor, and he shook his head. “I must beg your forgiveness, your Majesty. And I do hope you will not speak ill of this old warrior for letting his tongue run before his mind. Your skill with the blade does honor to your royal husband.”

Tauriel looked away. “I thank you for your compliment. But it honors my husband naught; as far as he is concerned, I am a beautiful ornament and little more. He knows not that my true nature lies in combat.”

Gidor’s eyes widened at hearing her opinion expressed so freely. And he almost toppled over with fright as Kili chose this very moment to detach himself from the shadows and step forth.

“Your husband has never had the chance to learn of your prowess with the blade, my lady. Allow him to correct his ignorance.”

Something in Kili stirred in satisfaction as Tauriel’s face paled at the sight of him, then promptly color crept into her cheeks, which had nothing to do with the heat of battle.

“My lord. I meant no disrespect.” She dropped her head in a small bow, casting a nervous glance at Gidor, as if unsure what the old warrior would make of this strange display.

Kili, meanwhile, thought to spare her the uncertainty and raised his hand.

“Gidor, you may go now. It will not do to have you witness her Majesty prostrated on her back as you were moments ago.” His tone was light, but mischief crept within, as a small indignant cry left Tauriel’s lips at the teasing offense and the meaning implied.

The master of arms bowed low to each of them in turn, uttering, “Your Majesties” under his breath as he made haste to leave the royal couple in the fencing room.

It was Kili’s belated realization that his little jest cost him the excuse of having an outsider together with them, to ease the tension lining the royal couple’s interactions. Ever since the incident when he had fallen asleep in his study to find Tauriel’s hand caressing his brow, their interactions had been lined with uncertainty. Before, Kili thought they’d come at a sort of ease around each other, a tentative friendship that stretched to everyday activities and a slight tease every now and then, courtesy of both their fiery, mischievous natures. He had, however, gone to great lengths to avoid being left alone with Tauriel. For one, he felt an overwhelming disquiet, as if the incident in his study had removed them from the plane they were on before, but what the new plane might be, he still could not fathom. What was more, though, he could see her spirits rising, as days passed, as she found more and more reason to smile, as his subjects started taking more and more interest in the tall elf with the fiery hair and the warm smile, as she made a few friends and with every passing day seemed less of a foreigner in their midst. The fragility of this new situation had Kili, knowing himself to lack subtlety when it came to delicate matters, taking painstaking efforts not to disrupt this newly delicate balance.

And against all this hard-gained ground, he had just openly challenged her to her face, and before his best warrior, whom he had just seen her throw on his back in the dirt. A challenge that had certainly been worded so that it implied a great deal more than its actual worth.

He half jumped out of his skin as he felt a whisper on his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “So,” Tauriel said, as she had circled him with the grace and silence of a panther ready to leap while his inner fight was waged, “the King under the mountain seems to be a little too sure of himself. Mayhap he need be taught a lesson.”

She stepped away and went around him once more, taking position a few steps away from him and giving an exaggerated bow with both her arms outstretched, head in a mocking gesture to one side, a lavish display nothing like the demure curtsey she had reserved for him. Kili gulped. Her hair shined around her face, and he suddenly realised that he found her more attractive in her boiled leather and plain tunic than he did in her regal attire.

A challenge was a challenge, and he had no one but himself to blame for this particular one. His reflexes kicked in as he gripped the sword he still held in his hand, and Kili bowed in return, a bow fit for a king.

“By your leave, fair lady.”

If she was disturbed by this, she did not show it. She merely moved a foot to the right, thus beginning the complicated dance of circling one another preceding a duel. Kili followed, moving his foot to the left as if mirroring her movements, his whole body tense, treacherous heat still lingering in his chest.

Both were measuring one another; neither seemed to be in a hurry to land the first blow. Tension hung in the air between them, and KIli has the impression that if he slashed forward with his sword he might just tear it in half, so thick was it getting. He could see her eyes, steady, calculating, upraising him, looking for weakness even as she moved swiftly and gracefully, whereas the tension was rendering him clumsy. Four or five hundred years of training surely put one at a fair advantage, Kili mused.

And then she struck, sudden as a king cobra darting forward, and he barely managed to duck to the side, as a slash appeared on his front armor as if by magic – it must have touched him just so. He stumbled backwards, losing his balance only for a second before swirling around and charging to her side, forcing her to step back and stoop a little as to make up for the slight difference in height. The twin blades she held as if they were natural extensions of her own hands, twisting them round and round in her outstretched hands like a puppeteer, as if to mesmerize him with the movement and put his guard at bay. Kili had to make a conscious effort to look away from the blades, standing his guard as a rain of blows landed from his left, and a cry left her lips as she charged forward. His guard down, Kili felt as though he was moving through a dream, as if the air had thickened and his senses dulled. He saw as if in slow motion a thin blade the color of moonlight come to his face, bent his head backwards to avoid it – and a fist crashed in the side of his mouth, as Tauriel moved too fast to withhold all the strength behind the intended blow.

Kili found himself half wondering how such an insignificant blow could cause him such pain and lost his balance as he stumbled and fell backwards. Instantly, Tauriel’s face was above him, her brows furrowed in concern, her lips muttering apologies as she made an attempt to wipe the blood trickling down his chin.

“By Elbereth, _goheno nin, goheno nin,_ my lord! I did not mean to strike you like this! My hand slipped as you missed the blades and caught with the side of your mouth…”

It was as though she was not making any sound, as far as Kili could tell. All he could see was her face close to his, her lips moving, her cheeks a-flush from the exercise. Her fingers tracing the side of his jaw, moving over the cracked lip. He did not feel the pain. But her touch was scorching him alive.

She seemed to sense the change in him, as her words slowed and then died and her hand stilled where it touched his lip. She was crouched low over him as he lay flat on his back. Kili raised his hand and took a shaky breath, as if he was breaching the surface of water after a long time with his breath held. There was blood roaring in his ears, and the entire world narrowed down to the one leaning over him. The elven princess. The Queen under the mountain. The one who nearly slipped into the shadow. His queen. Tauriel.

Afterwards, they would often argue as to who breached the distance first. As it is, lips met cracked lips in a silent sigh of surrender, as pieces clicked into place, as the world rearranged itself and turned itself upside down and inside out and finally stood still.

They tasted blood.

 

* * *

“Sire?”

Kili came out of his reverie, and in all frankness he felt grateful for the interruption; his thoughts were leading him through swirling visions of blades flashing and fiery hair, a hurricane of feelings and doubts and so many questions. A single kiss. A single moment of clarity. Then she had risen without a word and all but fled the fencing room. He was grateful to attend to the pressing matters of every day.

“What is it?”

Balin looked troubled. “Sire, Zin son of Zaneth, the head of the Eastern forges requests an audience. He insists it is urgent.”

“Show him in.” Kili braced himself for yet another malfunction. The forges had not yet regained their full capacity, regardless of all the years that had passed since the reclaiming of Erebor.

A dwarf entered the Hall of audience, his clothes plain and stained, but in his beard the intricate braidings and beads of high rank could be plainly seen. He knelt at the feet of the dais.

“You have requested our private audience?” Kili prompted.

“Your Majesty,” the dwarf began, then cleared his throat and looked nervously at his surroundings. Kili divined his meaning, and waived a hand to dismiss his court. When the great double doors had closed after the last courtier, he inclined his head, motioning for the dwarf to stand.

Zin regained his feet, and seemed to fidget in place. It was obvious that he would much rather be in the company of his forges and his men rather than that of the royal person.

“Sire”, he began again, “it has no doubt come to your knowledge that the Gudzuldal have taken shelter in our outer hall until spring.”

“Certainly, and they had done so with our royal permission; their elders vouched for the entire group. Has any trouble come to pass?”

“None whatsoever, my liege. Only, a strange occurrence took place a few days from today, and I was hard put to keep it from your Majesty.”

Kili nodded, his eyes worried now. “Go on.”

“Sire, I was passing near the camp of the Gudzuldal a few days ago when I noticed none other than her Majesty the Queen conversing with one of them. It is of course for the Queen to do as she pleases, so I was about to go on to my duties… When I noticed the Queen turning pale, and jerking away from the dwarf she was conversing with as if stung. Her royal hand appeared to have been held in the dwarf’s, because she jerked back, and looked quite troubled. She left at some speed shortly afterwards.”

Kili’s brows furrowed. Could these nomadic dwarfs, with their lowly ways, have somehow offended her? Mahal knew there was more than one way this could have happened.

“We would have their elders summoned at once…”

“There is more, if it pleases you, Sire. Her Majesty was accompanied by a dwarf of Erebor during her encounter.”

“Oh? And is it anybody you are familiar with?”

“Indeed I am, Sire. It was Linaz, the daughter of Maren the Mighty.”

“Linaz?” Kili could not remember a dwarf by that name. Nevertheless, he nodded towards Zin and said, “You have done well approaching us with these news, Zin son of Zaneth. It shall not be forgotten.”

At the dismissal, Zin seemed to hasten to be free of the royal presence. He bowed low and left without another word.

  

* * *

 

Kili felt as though this day would have no end. He had summoned Linaz, and questioned her. The dwarf had been properly awed, all curtsies and mumbled words of reverence and propriety, but he never heard more than that the Queen had had a mind to meet the Ghudzuldal and had done her the great honor to ask her along. What she had talked about was not Linaz’s business, as indeed she had stood to the side as befits a respectful subject in the presence of her Queen. She had not heard a single word. Then she had been dismissed.

Kili did not know what to make of this. He was half certain the she-dwarf was hiding something from him, which in itself could be labeled treason and dealt with most severely. But what made Kili check in his temper and indeed quench the fire of anger before it had even risen was the nagging feeling that whatever Linaz was hiding was a secret dear to the Queen, one that she was keeping from him out of loyalty. This made him warm inside, the notice that Tauriel had not only earned the trust of a subject of his, but also her friendship and had made a confidante out of her in only one meeting. He dismissed Linaz as night advanced, and sat in his chambers, lost in thought, gazing at the glowing ambers of the fireplace.

Their fire reminded him of hair the color of flame.

 

* * *

Tauriel stood once again on the great stone terrace that had been snowy the first time she had set foot on it. Now, the snow was melting, and she could hear soft dripping noises all around her. She was probably the only person aware of the coming of spring; the only person to care enough to come here daily and assess its progress. Now, she stood behind the ornate stone railing beyond which was the mountain in all its severe beauty, and remembered a night like this, when the crescent moon had shone upon her head where now a moonless night was upon her, only the stars left to illuminate her path, but all the brighter for the lack of the moon.

Did she dare believe? Did she dare give in to that feeling that had blossomed into her chest like a hidden thing, something in spite of herself, to be already in its full bloom when it finally manifested?

It seemed that everything that had happened to her, all the pain and the heartache and the loss, had been leading to this moment when she would find a willing heart in the most unlikely place – the very King that had bound her in the bounds of duty and taken her down the path of what must be.

“A warm heart beats for you, have you but sight to reach for it…” She said it out loud, as if testing the words as they rolled off her tongue.

“It does. Have you?” For once, he did not startle her. Somehow, there was no other place he would rather be. No other place than here, where he had first shown her kindness, where her healing had begun.

As the snow melted around her and flowed in rivulets down the mountain, sweeping with it all that was impure and left over of times that were hard, so her defenses finally toppled and melted away, to plunge in the unknown of what was to come, but what brought such sweetness.

“Yes,” she whispered, as she felt him approach her and stand alongside her, overlooking the mountain. As one they turned to face each other, and he took hold of her hands and gazed into her eyes, making all sorts of promises.

Tauriel had no need for promises. She had a willing heart, and that was enough.

 

 

 

 

_Goheno nin – I am sorry/Forgive me (Sindarin)_


	7. The course of true love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the last chapter is here! I had very mixed feelings writing it, on one hand feeling overwhelming happiness that I had managed to follow through with this story and finish it, but then on another, I was sad to see it end. But a story must end when the time is right.
> 
> For the last time, I want to thank each and every one of you for your wonderful comments, encouragement and ideas, I couldn't have done it without you! It meant the world to me and I am humbled by the amazing response this story received. I learned much through this journey and I feel deeply grateful to have taken it.  
> I couldn't have done it without my wonderful beta Maggiemaye, who took the effort to make every chapter the best it could be, with her suggestions and tireless encouragement and faith in my work. I thank thee, and I hope to work together again some day!

 

“Ay me! for aught that ever I could read,

could ever hear by tale or history,

the course of true love never did run smooth.”

― W. Shakespeare, "A Midsummer Night's Dream"

 

“It is not night when I do see your face,

Therefore I think I am not in the night;

Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company,

For you in my respect are all the world:

Then how can it be said I am alone,

When all the world is here to look on me?”

― W. Shakespeare, "A Midsummer Night's Dream"

 

 

“It was before the Great Battle… The Battle of the Five Armies, it is known, amongst the children of men…”

“ _Beleg auth_ …” Green eyes looked down, then to the side.

He nodded, carried on, as if lost on an ancient memory too dear to him to stop, or he might not find the strength to pick the story up where he left it.

“We made good time, upon the Quest. Thorin, Thorin Oakenshield, the heir to the King under the mountain, led us to reclaim what was taken from us… the story is well known, be it true or beautified by bards’ fancy words. We arrived here, in these very halls we roam today, filthy, hungry and desperate, a company of fourteen, of a mind to slay a dragon and reclaim a kingdom… The very stock fables are made of. Me and my brother, my brother Fili…” A shadow passed over his face, weary and tired, as though merely speaking of it took years off his life, “Fili and I, our mother did not want us to go. We were far too young, they said. We ran off into the night to follow our uncle on the Quest, and he had not the heart to send us away. Fili… he was the heir to the throne, after Thorin, the one to carry on the line of Durin… the one to bear the burden, and I, to support and protect him, always by his side. But it was not meant to be.”

“Your brother died in the battle for the Mountain.”

She gently nudged him on, feeling in her heart that painful though it was, he somehow had the need to share this story with her.

“We were all heroes, they said.” Kili’s eyes narrowed, lips turned slightly upwards with ironic mirth that did not reach his eyes. “But I find nothing heroic in being butchered when one has so much to live for. My uncle Thorin, to see all his dreams come true, to see his people restored to their own and his kingdom once more prosperous… And Fili, to be by his side, learning and preparing to take the burden one day, when strength failed him. I… I was never a part of this, you see. Reckless, I was. The hothead, the one who always made trouble. And they let me, as nothing important would ever be expected of me. Fili, oh how he whined of the unfairness of it all,” a wary, fond smile crossed his face then, “as he got twice the punishment for half my actions. Do you have siblings, Tauriel?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He nodded, as though in thought. “Yes well, a sibling is like another part of you, in my case, my better part. The part I always aspired to be. The part that loved me best of all, no matter what I did. He was always watching out for me, my brother was.” He closed his eyes, and carried on. “We all went on this suicide mission… during the battle, it seemed like the wise thing to do. I – I saw my brother, hacked to pieces and thrown off a cliff, while I could do nothing but scream…” he swallowed, his face twisted in agony as if it was before his eyes even now, decades on, “I ran into a blind rage, cutting at my enemies… Then everything went black, and for many a moon I knew not whether it was night or day, or whether I was alive or Mahal had taken me to his halls for good. There was only searing pain, and a drowning feeling of emptiness, and drifting in and out of feverish sleep. I knew not how much time had passed, but it was Mahal’s will that I opened my eyes once more, to gaze upon the wonders of Arda. And then, as somebody brought water to my lips, I heard them address me: “Sire.” And I knew. I knew I was the only one left.”

Her head was held low, as if burdened, so he could not see her eyes.

“Your uncle and brother would be proud of you, if they could see you today. Of everything you have become, of all you have built and preserved. You have carried on their dream. The line of Durin lies safe with you.”

Kili sighed, leaning his head to the side. The pain the memories brought on was not unexpected, for never a day had passed without him remembering these events and wondering, ever wondering, if anything could have gone differently. But for the first time, he had nothing to hold back, nothing to suppress. He did not need to exude pride, nor look regal in his grief. For the first time, he could tell a story of loss to someone who was far enough removed from these events to be impartial, and close enough to himself to feel right. For the first time, he felt the stirrings of hope awaken in his heart, hope that he might once again find the intimacy and easy companionship he had once shared with his brother, only so, so different and so much more.

Soaring hope brought a soft smile on his face, and his next words were scandalously out of place, if not for the feeling of sheer happiness and hope that suddenly overtook him as he gazed upon Tauriel, seated by his side on the green grass.

“It is wiser to say the safety of the line of Durin lies with you, _athanu men_.” Kili could not suppress a small smile.

Tauriel turned bright as a sunset, shook her head. But somehow she had a pleased look about her.

“Many of my people lost their lives in _Beleg auth…_ lives that would otherwise have been immortal.” She carried on after a short silence, as if the subject had not suffered the light-hearted interruption. It was clear that something bothered her, something she wanted to have off her mind. “My father did wrong to your uncle, all these moons ago, but in the end, the free races of Middle Earth fought together to rid it of the filth. I… I was in the camp, the one set up in Dale… as the battle began, I wanted to join in the ranks… my own father had me guarded in my tent, for fear I should disobey his command and attend the battle.” Her lips pressed tight, her expression one of humiliation and bitterness. “I never forgave him.”

Kili turned to face her, contemplated her face, and as he did so, it seemed as though the demons fell away and his posture straightened, his eyes brightened and his expression changed. His hand went up, as if by its own accord, and smoothed a stray strand of fiery hair out of her face.

“Then, I never might have met you.” His soft voice made her look at him, his eyes earnest as they drank her in. “I never would have gazed upon the most beautiful creature of Arda.”

His head rested on her shoulder, and she breathed in the cool fresh air, content, her hand gently touching his unruly black hair – a gentle caress, tender yet sure.

With the blossoming of spring, everything had changed. What brought king and queen together underneath the mountain was somehow all Kili’s domain, his surroundings and his homeland, a land in which Tauriel had fought hard to even begin to understand, let alone thrive in. With the coming of spring, Kili had made it his goal to share the outdoors with Tauriel; tentatively at first, lest she would reject the advances, then silently thrilled as he witnessed her unfold and bloom under his very eyes. It was as if the outdoors was what gave Tauriel shape and substance, as if it filled her up to the brim with joyous, bubbling life, as she stepped out from the mountain to blend into one with the awakening life outside. The Desolation of Smaug, as the whole area had been called, had lost some of its crudeness, as dragon fire and ash had become fertile ground for blossoming trees and vegetation. Nowadays, the area surrounding the mountain was green and lush, and the blooming spring had held the promise of it all as it blended into a single seed of hope and life, planted deep inside her soul.

Sometimes they would go riding out, making it as far as the outskirts of Dale, but more often they would stroll out on foot, seeking out secluded groves next to clear streams and green meadows, where they would sit down and converse for hours at an end. The fiery doubt of that first kiss in the fencing room had given way to an easy companionship, as if both felt that attraction had preceded them truly knowing the other for what they were, and they took great care to take slow steps. They talked and talked and suddenly, Kili would gaze at Tauriel and place a soft kiss on her brow for raising just so, then miss out completely on what she had to say about it in mirthful terms for he was drinking her in, as if drunk on fine wine, drowning all else around him. Or she would brush a crumb of bread off the tip of his mouth with cool, slender fingers, then, as if she could not quite help it, lean in and savor the touch of her lips on that same spot, just for the sake of breathing him in, in this one of all moments. In moments such as these, silence would fall, a silence ringing with a blessed awareness that they had come so close to never finding what they had now. The promise of love and happiness.

They had so much to learn of each other, and every day brought a new gift.

* * *

 

The grand library, a great big cave-like room filled with hundreds upon hundreds of shelves disappearing into shadow, was a place for quiet study if one was anything like Balin, and that was the place he went to when he needed to really work. Even though he had an enviable study in his private quarters, filled with valuable and often one-in-existence scrolls, working in the library was always a source of joy for him. The quiet and solemn feeling of the grand library was something the old scholar relished, and he was of a mind that younger dwarves did not pay it the respect it deserved.

That was why he felt most indignant, upon entering through the big oaken doors carved with runes of knowledge in ancient Khuzdul, when he heard the sound of unmistakable _giggling_.

Rounding a corner, he was greeted by a most unusual sight: on a small reading table there were piles of scrolls, lighted by a small lantern set atop the table. Two heads were leaning close, and the sound of giggling grew distinctly louder.

One of the intruders had the unmistakable clothing and hair-braidings of a high-born dwarf, a female one, and the other head, of a flaming red color and crouched lower to make up for the difference in height, left little room for doubt as to its identity.

Giggling noises were mixed with soft exclamations and shushed squeals of delight that made Balin wonder exactly what those scrolls contained that could produce such an undignified result.

“This cannot be right…”

“No, truly, I jest you not – see, the legs at _this_ angle…and the hips turn just so…”

“By the Valar, this is something I must see…”

“Seeing it will do little good, one must _try_ it to be sure…”

“What would his Majesty think if I so much as suggested it…”

“He would be thrilled, my lady, mark my words…”

More laughter exploded, hastily suppressed and turning into most improper guffaws, as Balin quickly backed off and made his exit, suddenly lost all zeal to spend time in a library that offered _such_ kinds of texts. It almost felt like a betrayal.

Two conspiratorial heads turned his way as he fled. Two pairs of mischievous eyes met over ancient scrolls. Two mouths burst out in laughing, quickly suppressed, for the sake of their solemn surroundings.

“Mahal, your Majesty”, the dwarf breathed, through muffled laughter, “it is my honest belief old Master Balin will never quite look at you the same way ever again.”

Tauriel was shaking her head, wiping tears of unshed laughter off her face. “Oh, Linaz – it was worth every pain we took to make it sound just so – dear Balin would positively think his king is in the hands of some corrupted elvish vixen, aided by his own loyal subjects, no less!” Her brows furrowed at a belated realization. “And if I have to tell you one more time to stop your Majestying me unless the occasion strictly demands it, I… I am going to tell everyone you have your eye on Master Dwalin, and how you dream of mapping each and every one of his tattoos with your tongue!”

“Don’t you dare!” Distress plain on her face, for once Linaz dropped the royal title without mentally reminding herself to do it. “You have enough knowledge of dwarvish ways by now to know a match such as this is never to be. What with me being fit to be his daughter, let alone the difference in rank and station – I am the daughter of a small nobleman, whereas he, the brother-in-arms of late King Thorin (may his soul find peace in the halls of his fathers)…”

“Not in any kingdom I’m queen of, these things will soon matter little.” Tauriel said, once again marveling at the restrictions ruling so many aspects of dwarven lives. “Just you wait, my friend, and have faith.”

Linaz sighed, shaking her head a little. The mischievous joy had left her, and her face seemed troubled.

Tauriel covered the small hand lying on the table with her own, leaning forward.

“ _Mellon-nin_ , whatever might be the matter? If I had been too hasty in teasing you about Dwalin, then I do apologize.”

“Oh no, please, it has nothing to do with this!” Linaz exclaimed, reddening just a tiny bit once more. “It is just…” She hesitated.

Did loyalty permit her speak? Where did loyalty finish and friendship begin? Linaz made her decision and lifted her chin firmly.

“It is something I have kept from you, for which you will have the right to mistrust me. Be that as it may, I will tell you now: not a moon ago, I was summoned by the king.”

“Oh?” Tauriel looked on, interested, a little alarmed. “What did his Majesty want with you?”

“Somebody had apparently seen you conversing with the Gudzuldal. Somebody had seen me accompanying you. I was ordered before the King to be questioned of what was it that took place that day, to have you fleeing as you did.” Tauriel pursed her lips a little at that. “Oh, but fleeing you did, and no mistake. Do not go about shaking your fiery hair at me.” Linaz’s eyes smiled once more. “The King wanted to know what had caused this, as he seemed to have thought you had been offended, and punishment or at least a hearing might be in order.”

Tauriel lifted her hand to her mouth, gasping.

“Surely you told him the truth, Linaz? I would hate myself if anything should befall these people on my behalf, where they were so kind to me…”

“Hush, of course I told him nothing!” Linaz leant across the table. “What did you expect me to tell him, that the old soothsayer advised you to open your heart to him?” Tauriel’s cheeks flushed, but the small smile on her lips betrayed it was out of pleasure rather than embarrassment. “Time has past since then, and your relationship has much changed, but back then it was unthinkable. So I simply reassured him that nothing improper had come to pass. But I do think now that recent developments have showed him more than I could have, back then.”

There was a twinkle in her eyes. Tauriel allowed herself a rare, wide smile, of the kind she kept for only Linaz to see. Or Kili.

Linaz suddenly seemed to start, as if she had forgotten something, and started fumbling inside her garments. Then, with a gasp of satisfaction, she pulled something out of a side pocket.

“I had almost forgotten. The Gudzuldal left a few days ago, just as sudden as they arrived – as indeed is their way. But the day before they did, I was walking through the market, and a little girl approached me. She said the old soothsayer sends her greetings, and gave me this, to pass on to you. Before I could question her, she disappeared in the crowd. I meant to go back to the camp to find out more, but then I had errands to do, and by the time I remembered about this strange encounter, and went to the place their camp stood, I found they had gone.”

Tauriel took the small bundle from Linaz’s outstretched hand. It was a small something, wrapped up in rags. She unwrapped it carefully, and took out a small pendant with a single stone hanging from it, a dark green one, almost black. As she was contemplating it, Linaz let out a gasp.

 _“_ My lady, it is the stone of promise. It is extremely rare, and precious to us.”

Tauriel was turning the small stone and the chain between her fingers. “What does it mean, Linaz?”

“It is a reminder, for keeping a promise. One is to carry it always, and every time one looks at it, she is reminded of a solemn promise she made.”

“What sort of promise did I made with the old woman?” Tauriel’s brows furrowed. “She looked at my palm, then uttered those words, and then I left…” She looked pointedly at Linaz, as if daring her to use the word “fled” again. Linaz’s eyes were too fixed on the stone pendant to notice.

“Do you not see, Tauriel?” The dwarf’s eyes were gleaming. “What did the old soothsayer tell you, do you remember the exact words?”

 _“Look with the eyes less and with the heart more.”_ Tauriel recited, out of memory. _“A warm heart beats for you, have you but sight to reach for it…”_ Her eyes widened in realization. “It is a token to remind me of these faithful words… to look with the heart… to remember and to cherish the warmth Kili showed me, when I lay dying… and to always bare this warmth for him…” She swallowed. There were tears glistening in her eyes.

Linaz nodded, a small, very soft smile on her lips.

“You have been through the hard times, and through the painful ones. The way I see it, this stone is the promise to look forward, to the beautiful times to come.”

* * *

 

It was the summer solstice, _Nun el-beleth,_ and the grand halls of Erebor were bathed in light. In an attempt to mirror the stars of the night sky, silver and precious pale jewels had been scattered in strategic places across the ceiling. It was a celebration the likes of which the citizens of Erebor had never seen; everyone was invited, down to the lowliest blacksmith, and the King and Queen themselves had overseen much of the preparations.

It was out of the question for dwarves to celebrate anything under an open sky; even the very mention of it would have been unthinkable, and Tauriel knew by now when to let dwarves be dwarves.

A few touches stood boldly out, as there was nothing even remotely dwarvish about them: the ornate decoration of the tables, simple yet elegant; the overall lack of precious stones and metal to be seen, replaced instead by green and flowers; and most of all, the raised dais in the middle of the feast decorated with wild flowers, and so was in fact every table in sight. This was a sight worth beholding, as dwarves are known to care little for the green blessed plants of Arda, turning their gazes instead to the ore and precious stones to be found in its depths. Whence they had come from, knew only a select few, and these could be easily recognized, by the small smiles of pride and accomplishment on their faces.

Tauriel had had greenery and flowers planted, high up on the terrace that was increasingly known as _Athani ghurd_ in the guttural language of those that served the purpose of gardeners, albeit reluctantly at first. But they could not grumble loud enough, for fear their Queen would overhear them. Tauriel was getting more and more fluent in Khuzdul, and even the most rigorous of dwarves had to admit her accent was admirable.

Not that the dwarves under the mountain could think of refusing anything to their Queen, really.

It was in her nature, one of fairness and justice, to treat others with respect and dignity, as she herself would be treated. Haughtiness and poise were strange to her. Only with great efforts had she learned basic traits of what counted for coquetries amongst elven maidens, and these were often elaborate displays of weakness for the sake of propriety. She had never needed either.

Her subjects found themselves doing her bidding before she had even uttered her desire, and gladly so.

On this most special of evenings, she surveyed the whole scene from an inner window of her chambers, overlooking the inside of the outer caverns, content. Her heart swelled with pride, and a little prick went through it as she remembered how Nun el-beleth was celebrated in her father’s court, the feast under the stars, the merry songs and the ballads of heroes most ancient and deeds most daring, being sung late into the starry night. But the pang was soon replaced by a sense of belonging that arose suddenly, coiled around her insides and refused to let go, as a small smile dawned on her lips and lit up her features as if the moon had suddenly shone through the clouds.

She had wanted to celebrate the summer solstice in style, to bring a piece of herself and her people to the mountain, the mountain that had given her such a bitter fight and almost ruined her before slowly accepting her in its bosom, as her own. She thought of warm, brown eyes looking at her with an expression of unguarded admiration in them, as she first tentatively shared her idea of celebrating Nun el-beleth within the mountain. She laughed softly as she thought of how since the first time she had mentioned it, Kili had nagged her about it every single day, repeatedly, going as far as sending her books of Khuzdul translations regarding the importance and history of the celebration and an endless supply of silver-colored fabrics to choose from, until she had agreed to arrange the feast just so she might get him off her back. She was given full reign regarding the ogranisation, and the following weeks drove her slightly mad, as it seemed masters of this and that were constantly on her heels, babbling on and on of rubies emeralds new dresses being made tiaras of silver and pearls thirteen full courses, Ma’am, as is customary for a feast!, fine wine music garlands until she almost regretted the whole thing twice over. She was never one of patience, and the tedious preparations almost drove her out of her mind. But now, surveying the results, she felt a happiness surge through her. It felt like uniting her old and her new life, on this most special evening.

She turned to the bed, where lay sprawled an intricate gown as bright as molten silver, lined with pearls at the hems, along with a tiara so finely made it seemed like cobweb. Her father would give much to possess such gems, she thought mirthlessly. Too bad his parting of his daughter and her new kin made it quite clear that whereas he heartily approved of the union he had made (she preferred to think of it as a “bargain” from his perspective), he hardly wanted to have much to do with them hence.

So much for the better, she was beginning to realize. 

* * *

 

 

The repertoire for the evening was dwarvish ballads mixed with an elven song here and there, and Tauriel winced as she heard the first of those, the crude accent of the singers and their horrible Sindarin. Then, she thought about the great pains they’ve given her in those first weeks of learning Khuzdul, and felt smug, and a bit mischievous: the nerve of these dwarves!

A hand pressed on hers, as she turned to her left to face Kili, sitting at her side on the raised dais, surveying their surroundings with shining eyes. For all his guardedness and wisdom when it came to matters of state, Kili had managed to retain a youthful sense of curiosity, a joyful fascination with anything new and pleasing to him, and the way his eyes shone right now was more than enough prize for all her efforts.

“ _Athanu men_ , allow me to express my humble admiration. A feast such as this these halls have not seen since the first kingdom of Erebor, if at all. You have outshined yourself.” His voice dropped dramatically. “And may I also ad that my queen has apparently aimed to torture me, on this one of all joyous nights.”

“Torture you, my lord? How so?” Lightheartedly, Tauriel added a belated thought, “If you are in any way referring to the greens on your plate, it is tradition that no meat is served on the feast when the day equals the night, and it was made known…”

“Ever so practical, Tauriel!” His whisper tickled her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “I meant the dress of pure starlight you wear, and the milky white shoulders looking as though they’ve drunk moonlight, and the lips red with the color of fine wine…” His whisper trailed off as he raised his cup to his lips, his cheeks a color they had not been mere moments before.

Tauriel suddenly found she had trouble breathing, and it was not an unpleasant feeling, either. But she did not turn red in turn. She felt bolder than she ever remembered being, be it the wine or the sheer happiness she had felt, on his account, these past two months. So instead of shying away, she leant in and whispered in turn,

“Perhaps my king would be willing to bare more than my shoulders, once the last dance and song is done… Though I, for one, would find that time an eternity.”

A frantic coughing fit overtook him, as he barely had time to set his cup securely on the table once more lest it spilled wine all over him. Tauriel registered a wide-eyed Balin, staring at her with equal parts awe and suspicion and she almost burst out laughing, remembering the prank in the library. At the same time, a more than slightly drunken Dwalin roared with laughter from across the table, and his voice could be heard across the hall as he boomed,

“Someone get up ‘ere and give this ‘ere lad a good slap on the back or two, before he drowns in ‘is own wine!” Then, eyeing Tauriel with a knowing conspiratorially smirk, added, “Mahal’s beard, lass! Do spare our Kili, as anyone in this mountain who has eyes can see he behaves like a wee dwarfling not out of his father’s halls when you direct so much as a smile at him!”

What would have once offended or taken her aback now served to amuse her, as she came to know dwarves and their crude, but honest ways more and more every day. So she laughed along with the others, as Kili straightened himself once more and joined in the mirth, not the least bit offended.

* * *

 

 

Contrary to what she had said earlier, the end of the feast came all of a sudden, as everyone got more and more into their cups, the music turned louder and more out of tune, and the feast merrier by the minute. It was customary that the royal couple should take their leave about this time, in order to leave their subjects to their merriment without having them worry of their disapproval, or of minding their talk. Not that anyone seemed to mind much either way.

So as one they rose, after sharing a fleeting glance of understanding, and a slightly hoarse guard stood at attention behind their backs, crying, “All stand for the departure of His Majesty King Kili and her Majesty Queen Tauriel!”

The royal couple inclined their heads left and right, as they slowly exited the grand chambers, dismissing their attendants as they went. These turned back all too willingly to join the throng that started gathering momentum, or so it seemed, the very moment the king and queen left the double doors behind them. Tauriel caught a glimpse of what might have been Linaz, skirts swirling high in a dance which in other times would have been deemed most improper. And was this none other than Dwalin, regarding her with wide eyes, as if he was seeing her for the first time? Tauriel hid a secretive smile, as she stored this scene for future teasing.

Kili had a fond smile on his face. He also seemed to babble faster than was his way. “A dwarvish feast indeed. Did you see Dwalin’s face, just before we took our leave? Why, he could barely utter two coherent words together. And Balin, in all his white-bearded dignity, performing that dance in the middle of the hall? It will be talked of for at least a century, I can assure you. I will see to it personally.”

They had reached the privacy of the royal wing of the castle, where their respective chambers faced one another, as had been since the first night Tauriel had spent under the mountain. Silence suddenly fell, as they stood in the corridor in-between the two ornate doors, as though haunted by the memories they held.

Then without so much as a word, Tauriel pressed the doorknob of her door with her hand. Kili seemed to nod a little at that, as he silently turned towards his own, his shoulders sagging. As he turned, a very precise hand took hold of his mantle right between the shoulder blades, and held him firmly in place, as a mouth hovered over his ear, speaking softly,

“Would my king share my chambers tonight?”

Kili turned on the spot, almost staggering, and he could no longer contain what had been his torture and his exquisite pleasure for so long now. He pressed his body to hers, to steady himself but also because he could not bear not to touch her anymore, his hands taking hold of her face, as his voice came on a hoarse whisper, “My lady needs just say the word. Mahal knows I desire you more than I had ever thought possible, Tauriel. I am yours.”

“I know,” she muttered, as her lips slid over his, the exquisite heat taking hold of her body and clouding her mind until only Kili remained, standing before her, her whole universe wrapped up in him.

The door closed softly behind them. 

* * *

 

And again on the moonlit terrace they stood, the elf and the dwarf, the king and the queen, side by side, overlooking the mountain they ruled over. It was Durin’s day once more, as the trees began to lose their green and winds got fiercer by the day. But today there was no crowd cheering at their feet. They wore no finery; no elderly dwarf was muttering blessings upon them in a tongue more ancient that the mountain itself.

They noticed none of this; for this time, they only had eyes for each other.

Kili cleared his throat; once, twice. His eyes were stinging. Before him stood the one who had turned his world upside down and inside out, to rearrange it once more in the shape of her own self, and he knew he would live and die and fight for her, for nothing could be more precious.

The night they chose each other, out of their own free will, there was no music and dancing, no high speeches and pomp.

There was gazing into each other’s eyes, as if they were truly seeing each other for the first time, one year on.

“ _Amralime_ ,” came his voice, on a whispered breath, “I have taken you to rule by my side, share in my glory and partake in the treasures of my land, but did I but know you will steal my heart in the process.”

Her bubbling laughter filled the terrace, happiness shining through as her eyes sparkled in merriment, the happiness of being chosen, and feeling like one had at last arrived at their destination after a long and tedious journey.

“Kili”, she said, “my lord and husband. Enough of these courtly words.”

And she caught him by surprise as she pressed her mouth to his, pure joy making it hard for her to contain laughter as she kissed him sweetly, deeply, making a million promises of a million things to come, as if the past year was a dark night that had finally given way and the dawn was shining through, even though it was the moon above their heads.

And at that moment, unseen by either, a lone moonbeam shone and an inscription formed and glinted in its secret light, reflected only once in the year on a special night, at the entrance of the mountain from the terrace, and it was a rune intricately carved in Khuzdul, and it read

 

**_“Forever”._ **

* * *

 

Or so they tell the story. And the young maidens dream of a story of their own, while the fellows make disbelieving sounds. But if one should go on the terrace when the last light of Durin’s day shines above their heads, they just might see the rune for themselves.

 

 

 

 

Beleg auth – The Great Battle (Sindarin)

Amralime – my love (Khuzdul)

Athanu men – my queen (Khuzdul)

Athani ghurd – Queen’s garden/ Garden of the Queen (Khuzdul)

Mellon-nin – my friend (Sindarin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus we end.
> 
> Yes, the scene where Kili tells Tauriel he is hers and she replies, "I know" IS taken from Starwars, that scene between Han Solo and Lea, where he is about to be frozen and she says "I love you" and he replies, "I know". I just could not resist. What can I say, across galaxies and fandoms, cockiness is ever a thing.


End file.
